I Know You So Little
by RogueSnitch
Summary: Starting a new relationship is always slightly awkward at the beginning... especially as her last relationship was with God.
1. Chapter 1

"I know you so little, but I have never been more certain."

She had said those words mere hours ago and he had replayed them numerous times in his mind. When he closes his eyes, he can see her there, standing before him, looking still pale from the strain of illness but alive in her eyes. It was true that he had been increasingly drawn to those eyes of late but had always found them guarded. Today he had seen shyness and excitement mixed on her beautiful face and delighted in the memory.

The soft chime of the clock on the mantelpiece alerted Patrick to the lateness of the hour so he drained his now cold cup of tea and made his way to the bathroom. _Never been more certain._ Months of uncertainty and pouring his soul into letters with no expectation of reply had left him weary but those four words had buoyed his heart like a lifeline he hadn't realised he needed. He felt giddy, like he wanted to jump out of his own skin with the anticipation of being on the cusp of something so great. He cautiously popped his head around his son's door, thankful to find a peacefully sleeping child. Timothy had been enthralled with the excitement of the day and even more so to spend time with his favourite Sister, even if it entailed mostly driving from one place to another. Patrick decided that over breakfast he would sit down with Timothy, painful though he anticipated a frank discussion about feelings would be, and seek approval. Timothy would always come first and in that, Patrick was sure that Shelagh would agree.

Yet another reason she was so brilliant. And to think that she was _completely certain_ that she wanted him, it astounded him. Switching on the light in the bathroom, he felt a wave of unease wash over him, did she truly mean it? He pondered the question while coaxing the last of the toothpaste onto his toothbrush. In all the years he had known Sister Bernadette, she had been nothing if not sincere. Attacking his teeth with vigour he studied his own reflection in the mirror and raised an eyebrow in consideration. He was older than her (by a few years more than he would like to admit), he wouldn't characterise himself as handsome or dashing and he was sure that the lines on his face were multiplying when his back was turned. After rinsing his mouth out with water, he went back to his self-assessment. When had his hair got so long and unruly? And was he imagining it or had the skin on his neck started to sag. He ran a hand over the offending area and chuckled at his own vanity. While he couldn't fault her sincerity, he did question her taste.

Changing into his pyjamas and climbing into bed, Patrick found himself unable to sleep. He was consumed by thoughts of her. Not an unusual occurrence but tonight he could open those doors in his mind that he had so achingly tried to barricade while such thoughts were not sanctioned. He thought first of her smile and the little dimples that appeared on her cheeks as she did, then of her hair, uncovered to him for the first time and somehow, exactly as he imagined it would be. He thought of the way his name sounded tumbling from her lips in her lilting Scottish brogue. They had made a start today with the exchange of names and he had never thought his own name could sound so wonderful. Throughout the day she had made a point of addressing him often and he fancied that she got a thrill out of it too. He got a thrill out of imagining her introducing herself to perfect strangers as 'Shelagh Turner' and decided that such a time could not come soon enough.

Marriage? A mother for Timothy? A companion to share life's highs and lows? A lover? God how he hoped. This was territory he had firmly reprimanded himself for straying into on occasion. Lusting after a Nun was just not what one did. He couldn't deny that he wanted her, he had woken from many a dream feeling guilt through to the bottom of his toes. It wasn't fair to her, to her way of life and it had filled him with shame. As of today, she was no longer bound by her vows and he wondered how she was feeling about such a prospect. Would she be excited or apprehensive or perhaps a mixture of both? He had been so caught up in his excitement and admittedly a few insecurities that he hadn't completely appreciated the monumental changes that Shelagh would be facing. Reclaiming her name was just the start of it.

Patrick found he was gripped by a sudden desire to talk to her. He needed to know that she was alright. She had been noticeably upset after speaking with Sister Julienne but had quickly changed the subject. He knew better than to push, not that he had expected to open up about such matters in front of Timothy. After they had located a suitable lodging for her, they ate a fish supper and bid her goodnight. Their parting had been a little awkward, neither knowing the rules and she had surprised him by taking his hand and squeezing it gently while thanking him for everything. She had blushed and he had thought it quaint, though now he can't help but berate himself for not seeing it as an intimacy that she is not accustomed to. It may have been a big step for her. He wants to ask her this very second, but he at least has the wherewithal to appreciate that her new landlady would likely not take kindly to a man ringing in the middle of the night. Even less so if one was to turn up on her doorstep.

How he wished she could stay under this roof with himself and Timothy to help her through this time of change. He knows that propriety won't allow it and he's assuming that she would feel more comfortable with them, when perhaps this time alone is allowing her space to adjust. Maybe he will call around in the morning, on his way to the surgery, just to be completely certain.

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Hello, thanks for reading. Any advice and reviews would be greatly appreciated. I'm not 100% sure where I am going with this, but it will be multi-chap and will move out of Patrick's head… promise.


	2. Chapter 2

Shelagh found that it took her several moments to orient herself upon waking and several more to convince her that everything that had transpired the previous day was real. She was no longer a Religious Sister of the Order of St. Raymond Nonnatus. They had been her family, her home for almost a decade and she had chosen to leave them. For a heart-stopping moment, she was swept under a tide of regret.

Closing her eyes, she pulled the thick duvet over her head, like a child hiding from a monster, only her monster was reality. Images flashed unbidden in her mind. The plainsong, such an anchor to her in the religious life was closed to her now, her voice would no longer lead her sisters in song. No longer would she teach the less experienced nurses in the art and craft of midwifery, a passion she would find hard to discard. She saw the faces of the nuns and nurses alike flit through her mind and loss weighed heavy on her heart.

Her breath caught in her chest and just as a tear was primed to slip from her eyelash she saw a new image. A memory. Timothy Turner, interrupting one of her midwifery classes to ask, "Which specific bone are you trying to push that doll through? Also, _why_ are you pushing a doll through there." As the memory unfolded, she remembered Dr. Turner rushing in and apologizing for his son. She remembered that he had looked exhausted, on the verge of collapse, and she had so yearned to unburden him. To help him shoulder the weight of Poplar's ailing; to spend time with Timothy, encouraging the inquiring mind that so often had to take a backseat. She had wanted to love them. She could see it clearly now, her yearning had broken her spirit, if not her faith and as such, her life was destined for a new path.

Pulling the duvet from her face, she breathed in deeply and exhaled in a similar fashion. Calming breathes that she repeated twice more. She had faith in God and she had faith in this new path; that was where she would start.

As Shelagh went about her morning ablutions, her mind stayed focused on the 'new path'. It was so unclear, a misty, winding path and she could hardly dare to dream of what should lay in wait around the first corner. Dreaming felt frivolous and she had so often reprimanded herself for flights of fancy where the local GP was concerned. Placing the final pins in her hair she smiled at her reflection in the mirror, maybe she could dream a little. After all, who said Shelagh Mannion couldn't be a dreamer?

A knock at the door startled her for a moment and she quickly checked her hair was in place before rising to answer. Assuming it was her new landlady, Shelagh ensured a polite smile was in place which quickly turned to a picture of surprise as her eyes fell upon her visitor.

"Patrick." Her voice was breathy.

There he stood, in the camel-coloured coat that he had cocooned her within just yesterday, a wide smile plastered across his face and Shelagh felt her stomach flip at the sound of her name on his lips, "Shelagh. May I come in?"

It took a few seconds for his question to register and she found herself quickly glancing up and down the hallway. Scandalised she whispered, "In my room?"

When Patrick only nodded, smile still firmly in place, it occurred to her to enquire, "How did you get up here? Mrs. Douglas was very firm on the rules; one of which involved gentleman callers."

"I climbed in through a window. I didn't make too much noise though." He laughed as he spoke.

Wise to him, she only raised an eyebrow. A move that worked wonders on patients as well as the younger nurses and she figured now was as good a time as any to see if it held the same effect on Patrick.

Evidently it did, as he lowered his head and avoided her eyes as he explained, "I was just calling in to leave a note for you and well, Mrs. Douglas assumed that I was calling in my capacity as a Doctor and," he paused and looked straight into her eyes, "I couldn't resist the temptation to see you."

Shelagh had a peculiar sensation in her chest, it seemed almost as if her heart had stopped with the antithesis of her pulse pounding in her ears. This man that she had grown to love stood before her looking bashful yet so sincere. It ignited a fire inside her and she knew that the path ahead was theirs to share. She felt powerful. She felt liberated.

Stepping aside, she motioned him in to her room. As he closed the door behind him, the room appeared smaller to Shelagh and it occurred to her that she ought to feel a certain amount of trepidation in such a position. She knew Patrick was a kind and honorable man – sneaking into boarding houses under false pretenses aside – however a decade within a religious order left her romantic education rather lacking. For instance, what did one do when the object of their affections was inexplicably in their bed space?

Startling her, Patrick stepped close to her and in an imitation of yesterday placed his palm against her forehead. His voice held concern, "How are you feeling? Any coughing? You must watch out for shortness of breath; the disease may no longer be active but best to be on guard." His words tripped over each other until he paused, and removed his hand. "I'm sorry, the doctor in me will always rear its ugly head."

Finding a measure of confidence in the face of Patrick's nervous ramble, Shelagh sought out his hand and held it bravely. "It's fine," she smiled and added, "at the very least it lends credence to your cover story."

Rewarded with a chuckle from Patrick, she enquired as to the note he was initially intending to leave for her.

"Oh yes, I wanted to ask if you would be free this evening? Only I expect Timothy would love to spend some time with you and, well… I am completely certain that I would love that too. I can even try cooking something?"

"Oh no, that won't be necessary," seeing his crestfallen expression, she rushed to add, "for you to cook, I mean."

"Would you like fish and chips again?" Patrick was puzzled.

"No, no, I've just regained good health, Patrick, I'd rather like to keep it that way." Her tone had been sardonic, so she smiled and looked up at him, unsure. "I'm not so bad at cooking myself, though I'm a little out of practice. I could make something for us, something simple."

When he didn't answer immediately, Shelagh worried that she was overstepping the mark and assuming too much, too soon. Doubt started to gnaw at her. She had been in enough homes, nursed right at the heart of a family, observed couples of every ilk but what were the rules for her? Did Patrick expect her to behave in a certain manner? She would vehemently refuse to be anything other than herself… if she even knew who that was now.

Just as she felt the loss of her former identity tugging at her heart again, Patrick lifted her chin up gently to look her in the eye. His hand moved to her cheek and rested there so delicately she couldn't stop herself from nuzzling closer. "Shelagh." His thumb traced a feather-light path across her cheek. "That would be wonderful. It really would… only I wanted to treat you. It doesn't seem right to invite you over and then expect you to cook for us."

"You didn't expect it though, I offered. Let me cook, Patrick, as a thank you for coming to my rescue yesterday."

"I'd do anything for you." He whispered the words to her and she experienced a shortness of breath that definitely wasn't related to the illness. "But if you insist, I would be most grateful, and Timothy would be overjoyed at the prospect of a real meal. Would you like me to pick you up on my way back from the surgery?"

"Thank you but I have a few errands to run this afternoon, so I think I will walk." Patrick nodded in understanding and after a moment, Shelagh was wondering if he was going to lean his head forward and kiss her. She had noticed his eyes dart downwards to her lips several times in quick succession.

She supposed such a moment should evoke a level of nerves, yet she felt calm, content and more than a little excited. A notion so obscure to her that her amusement shone through.

"You're smiling."

Before she had time to censor herself, a playful retort was hanging between them, "Would you rather I didn't?" Giddy for his response, she smiled fully, and it lit her face.

Patrick rewarded her with a raised eyebrow and a chortle before he spoke, "Not at all." He closed the gap between them some more. "Only it does make me suspicious."

"How so?" She wondered if this exchange was considered flirting, and if so, she rather thought they were more adept that Sargent and Nurse Noakes had been.

"Such a beautiful smile aimed at me? How could I not think that this is all a dream that I shall wake from and the only thing I have to look forward to is a Cornish Pasty for my lunch?" His eyes shone with mirth. "That's if I even get a break, I have a few notorious appointments this morning that…" His words trailed off and his brows knitted together. He quickly glanced at his watch, "Blast it!"

She felt the loss of his warmth so keenly as he moved towards the door, glancing over his shoulder as he spoke, words hurried. "Forgive me. Very, very late."

And then he was gone.

For about thirty seconds before he burst in again, tenderly placing a kiss on her cheek. He winked and once more he was out the door.

Shelagh shakily sat down at her dresser, bringing her hand to the spot he had brushed with his lips. Smiling at her own reflection and reveling in the blush that sat high on her cheeks, she spoke with resolve, "A new path."

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Thank you for reading :)


	3. Chapter 3

Patrick was certain that this had been one of the longest days of his life, he was as busy as ever but checking the clock every few minutes did seem to have the strange effect of slowing down time. He was embarrassed to say that he had caught himself day dreaming more than once and was extremely perturbed to say that Sister Evangelina had also caught him daydreaming. She had given him an earful, as was customary but he was sure there was an air of suspicion about her. _If she only knew._

"Dad will you stop fussing."

Timothy's words pulled Patrick back to the present and he spun away from the mirror, dropping the hand that had been trying to flatten a particularly stubborn flick of hair. "Watch that cheek, son. Best behaviour tonight, please." He glanced in the mirror again before adding, "and I'm not fussing."

Timothy rolled his eyes when his father's back was turned. "I'm always on my best behaviour and you _are_ fussing."

He desperately wanted this evening to be perfect. He wanted Shelagh to be confident in choosing this life with himself and Timothy. While he wasn't conceited enough to believe that he was the solitary factor in her decision to renounce her vows, he knew that her feelings for him had played their part. He wanted her faith in the decision to be absolute. And selfishly, he just wanted to love her and be loved by her.

"Tim, can you please put those books away, they're making the place look untidy." As Timothy grudgingly stacked the books up and headed to the bookshelf, Patrick spun around surveying their living room and it was as though he was seeing it for the first time, "Has it always been so dark in here?"

Timothy looked around and shrugged his shoulders. "Dad, remind me to get this book back out later. I want to show Sister Bernadette the diagram of a chrysalis. I wonder if she has ever seen one before, I bet she has, she knows loads about insects." He jumped up from the floor and rushed to the back door. "I need to check that those snails are still there. She'd like to see those! Did you know she had a pet snail as a child because she wasn't allowed a dog?"

Patrick could only stare at his retreating son, asking himself how Timothy knew more about Shelagh than he did. "Tim, come back in, you're letting all of the heat out." As his son trudged back inside, Patrick continued, "And remember, she isn't Sister Bernadette anymore."

"Oh right, yes." Said Timothy, "I'll probably remember that more easily when I see her. She looks prettier in normal clothes doesn't she Dad?"

Patrick chuckled, "She does, son." he decided that Tim didn't need to know how long he had been stealing sideways glances at Sister Bernadette, drinking in the graceful lines of her face, the way her cheeks dimpled as she smiled and those eyes, so full of intelligence and wit, he had found himself drowning in them more than once. "Flowers!" He blurted suddenly, struck by inspiration.

"Flowers?" Echoed Timothy, looking at his father expectantly.

"Yes, yes, flowers... and chocolates... or do you suppose she prefers cake?"

"They do eat a lot of cake at Nonnatus." Tim replied solemnly. "It would be nice for her to have some flowers of her own. Did you know that Nun's don't have anything of their own? Although they probably keep their own Habits." He grinned, "I doubt that Sister Bernadette and Sister Evangelina could share."

Patrick frowned, distracted. "Well they do have some things but... maybe it's best not to overwhelm her." She wasn't a nun anymore, but the vow of poverty had been ingrained in her for a long time. He pondered on the issue, would it take time for her to adjust... or would she welcome the changes that came along with her new life? Surveying the room again, he took in the various ornaments and knickknacks covering the shelves, would she think them too extravagant?

A faint knock at the door refocused his attention, "Oh, that will be her!" He turned back to the mirror once more before rushing to answer. He paused for a heartbeat and closed his eyes, she was probably more nervous than he and him keeping her waiting was definitely not within the realms of gentlemanly conduct.

Opening the door, his eyes took in the petite woman before him, and he felt a little jolt of wonder course through his body; to look upon her beauty and not feel guilt and shame was something he never wanted to take for granted.

"Shelagh."

Her coat hanging open, Patrick could see that she wore an outfit not dissimilar to what she had been wearing the previous day. Though Patrick - not one to usually observe current trends - noticed the skirt ended slightly higher up and the blouse was a soft green shade, with embroidered detail on the collar. She looked so fragile out of the Habit and Wimple, though he knew better than to underestimate her strength in every sense of the word. Still, he wondered how she viewed the transition and pondered if it was impolite to ask.

"Hello Patrick." Her voice was soft, and she demurely looked down at her feet, blushing under the weight of his eyes.

"Please..." he stepped aside and held the door open for her, all the while wishing he could calm the nervous energy that had his hands trembling. Needing to occupy his hands, he took her coat and bags of groceries, before showing her into the sitting room where Timothy stood, with a small bunch of flowers in his hand.

"Hello, Miss Mannion." He stretched out his arm, holding the flowers to her.

"Hello, Timothy, are these for me?" She held the flowers up to her face, inhaling the floral scent. "So fresh, did you just pick these from the garden?"

"Erm, yes." Timothy replied while valiantly trying to avoid Patrick's gaze who was certain that their over grown garden hadn't contained anything that so much as resembled a flower for a long time now.

"Do you have a vase that we could put these in?" Shelagh asked Timothy and they both moved to the kitchen chatting to each other amiably.

Patrick was left alone in the sitting room, holding the bags that Shelagh had brought with her and uncharitably thinking that he should have packed Timothy off to Jack's house tonight. He ran a hand through his hair, no, it was important that Shelagh and Timothy get along. He was a grown man, he wasn't going to compete with his son for her attention.

Timothy burst back into the room, grasping the bags from his father's hands, "Shelagh said that I can help make dinner and even cut some of the vegetables!"

"If that is agreeable with you, Patrick?" A small voice came from the doorway.

Patrick looked at his eager son and Shelagh's tentative smile, he didn't think that he could deny either of them anything even if he had wanted to. "Of course."

Maybe it wasn't too late to ring Jack's mother, he mused to himself petulantly.

* * *

Patrick lit another cigarette and waited patiently. While he was grumpy that his son had monopolized the evening, he really had enjoyed watching Timothy and Shelagh bond. Although, if he was honest with himself, it would seem that they had bonded long ago, and he just hadn't realised to what extent. They were comfortable around each other and seemed to be continuing a conversation that was uniquely theirs. He recalled the many times that he had dropped Timothy at Nonnatus House as he'd rushed to another crisis and decided it was more than likely that Sister Bernadette had indeed been the one to occupy his son.

For one thing, he could be thankful that there were only a few embarrassing misdemeanors from Timothy this evening, including a couple of odd questions about her decision to leave Nonnatus. Shelagh hadn't seemed phased and he mused that she might have already prepared herself for such questions as she was bound to be object of gossip soon enough, nothing stayed private for long in Poplar. He vowed to himself that he would be there for her every step of the way.

The door hinges whined, alerting Patrick to her presence and his breath caught as he saw her standing shyly in the doorway. Slowly she made her way across to the settee and sat down primly next to him. Patrick, in a complete turnaround started to wish Timothy would come back down and act as a buffer. Shaking the silly notion from his head, he instead asked if Timothy had wanted to carry on with the letter F in his Children's Encyclopedia.

Shelagh smiled, indulgently, "Yes, he did. I'll admit that when he asked me to read him to sleep, I'd imagined a story book would be produced." She chuckled, "Although, I will also admit to being relieved that it wasn't the Encyclopedia Britannica."

Patrick laughed with her, "He has an unwaveringly curious mind. I can't remember the last time he asked for an actual story before bed."

As the laughter petered out, Shelagh shifted on the settee and brushed her skirt down, looking everywhere but at him. It was just the two of them now, as he had yearned for all evening and her apprehension was palpable. In realising this, he desperately wanted to remedy the situation. To break the ice.

He held his cigarette, now half smoked, out to her, "Puff?"

She smiled and nodded, "Go on then."

Watching her delicately place it to her lips, he was transported back to the aftermath of the Carter birth. Not in his wildest dreams could he have foreseen her actually here, sitting in his house sharing a cigarette. He had a few seconds to enjoy the image before she began to cough violently.

Cursing himself, he took the cigarette from her fingers and placed it in the ashtray, then sought out a glass of water. Kneeling down, in front of her, he helped her to sip the water slowly.

Tenderly wiping a tear from her cheek, he whispered, "I'm sorry, some Doctor I am."

Shaking her head, she soothed, "I would have been disappointed if you hadn't offered; I wasn't thinking either." She brushed back a lock of his hair that was falling in to his eyes. "When my lungs are stronger, I'm going to hold you to that puff."

Now Patrick was intrigued, he'd always seen flashes of a playful nature in Sister Bernadette and on occasion had wanted to bait her. He had never been able to bring himself to do it, it always seemed too much like playing with fire and he'd dug himself a big enough hole when he started to fall for her as it was.

However, right now, kneeling in front of her with everything new and to play for, he narrowed his eyes in mock indignation, "My dear, I believe you had at least half a puff then."

Her retort was immediate, "Then I _believe_ I was short changed and half a puff is still owing."

God, he loved this girl. In some ways he hardly knew her yet the thrill of being able to discover her anew set his pulse racing. He had to take it slow, he reminded himself, for both of their sakes. It was an adjustment for them each, though more so for her, and he felt it was to be handled with care.

He smiled and conceded, "You strike a hard bargain, Miss Mannion. Well, considering your lungs are going to have to remain smoke free for a while, is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" He looked around, distractedly, "We have some biscuits somewhere."

"Kiss me."

Patrick whipped his head back around to face her. Did she really just say that, or had he imagined it? Her eyes were bright and imploring and she lent forward ever so slightly. All thoughts of handling this new relationship like a fledgling chick flew out of the window at her request.

"Patrick, kiss me." She repeated, her voice quiet but sure.

He didn't need to be told thrice, he could deny her nothing. Moving forward slowly to close the gap between them, he paused for a second before placing his lips against hers. She surprised him by parting her lips slightly and placing her hand on his cheek as if to hold him place. He let her dictate the duration and when she pulled away gradually, he wondered if he looked as dazed as he felt.

She caught her lower lip with her teeth, and breathless said, "I have wanted to do that for such a long time."

Patrick was dumbstruck, how did this beautiful woman sitting before him and smiling as though she had suddenly uncovered the meaning of life, fall for him? A widowed, overworked Doctor, who came as a package deal with a precocious young son. He pulled himself back on to the settee, sitting closer than before and had to ask.

"How long?"

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Thank you for reading and super thanks to everyone that has reviewed :)


	4. Chapter 4

"How long?"

Shelagh considered his question, along with his earnest expression. It wasn't an unreasonable thing about which to enquire, and she would certainly like to ask him the same. The real question was, how could she pinpoint an exact time? She realised that she had taken too long to respond when Patrick's eyes dropped from holding hers and he shuffled himself a little further away from her. His words, when he spoke, pulled at her heart.

"Forgive me, I shouldn't have asked. I've made you uncomfortable."

"Patrick, I've been uncomfortable in my own skin for the past two years, at least." Shelagh reached to touch his arm, but lost her nerve as she spoke, "I'm definitely uncomfortable now and certainly will be for a while," she paused, grasping for the words to explain, "Only now, the discomfort is edged with excitement and hope. So much is changing, and change is so rarely easy at the beginning."

She smiled as Patrick took hold of her hand in his, smoothing his fingers over her knuckles. "I wish that I could make it all easier for you. I know that I can't wave a magic wand, and I can't even fully comprehend how big a transition this is for you but please let me try."

He kept hold of her hand, gently stroking it and she felt a tingling sensation in her arm as the hairs stood on end. Such a simple touch yet her body's response was like that of a dry desert experiencing the first rainfall in years. She closed her eyes and hummed appreciatively.

Before he had time to comment, and still with her eyes closed, she mumbled, "Eve Patterson."

"Sorry, I don't follow."

Opening her eyes, she smiled shyly but held his gaze, "I was the midwife on call when she rang to inform us that her waters had broken. By the time I arrived, soaking wet due to the near torrential rain, she had started to panic and had locked herself inside. I spent a great deal of time coaxing her around through the letter box, by the time she saw reason – that the baby would arrive regardless of letting a midwife in – I was drenched."

Patrick chuckled, "Ah yes, I came and assisted, forceps wasn't it?"

"Correct. It wasn't until I was checking the placenta that I realised how cold I was and that you were waltzing around the room with a slight smattering of rain on your shoulders." She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "I was praying for strength not to take my frustration out on you."

Almost imperceptibly, Patrick moved closer, "Was I really waltzing?"

"After a fashion." Shelagh laughed, "Anyway, by the time I was ready to leave, I thought you were long gone. But there you were, standing by your car, soaked to the bone, looking incredibly pleased with yourself."

It suddenly dawned on him and the realisation was visible on his face. "Ah yes, that's right, I had managed to wrestle your bike into my car."

"Patrick, you had even taken the front wheel off the bike to fit it in." Shelagh exclaimed. "I was exhausted, cold and hungry but the only thought running through my mind was, 'Oh I could just kiss that man'."

Patrick furrowed his brow, "Shelagh, that must have been about three years ago!"

She smiled sweetly, "I know, and I am being somewhat facetious, but you did ask how long." She sobered slightly, "That was just a moment born of gratitude and didn't leave me feeling as though I had compromised my vows in any way."

Shelagh knew he was going to ask when that changed, and she decided to volunteer the information first. "I can't say exactly when it changed, when _I_ changed. It seems like I have been lost for so long; questioning myself and my choices." She felt him squeeze her hand and the gesture gave her the courage to carry on. "I had often watched the nurses; been just on the periphery of their antics and so wished to join them. I think being closest to them in age, they would include me to a point but then I was shut out as my vocation dictated. It was like a cruel taste of something I couldn't have."

"That must have been difficult." His tone was sincere.

"It was in a way, but I had a purpose greater than myself. My desire to join them was always fleeting and I would be able to find solace in prayer." Shelagh paused and looked at their hands clasped together, it felt so natural despite the total lack of physical intimacy she was used to. "But with you, it happened so gradually and was such a foreign concept to me that by the time I realised what my heart was telling me, you had permeated every inch of my soul. I couldn't escape in prayer, because you were in them, you were in my dreams, at clinic- "

Patrick cut her off with his lips and Shelagh was stunned for a few seconds before she responded, the kiss was just as chaste as their first but this time it felt more decadent, he moved his lips over hers slowly and without conscious thought she had run her free hand up the nape of his neck, into his hair. Which she was delighted to find was as soft as she'd imagined.

Patrick pulled back slowly and rested his forehead against hers, "How long, Shelagh?"

She swallowed her nerves, and whispered, "I think I realised when you were running yourself ragged trying to provide gas and air to all the laboring women of Poplar. I fixed a button on your white coat and as I was doing so it occurred to me that you were in my thoughts more often than was appropriate and I couldn't say how or when it had started, only that I couldn't remember a time when it wasn't there."

Sitting up straight again, Patrick raised their joined hands to his mouth and kissed hers. "Thank you for telling me."

They spent a moment gazing at each other. Shelagh felt lighter than she had in months, the weight of her burden lifted. Telling Sister Julienne had been difficult; telling Patrick had turned out to be surprisingly cathartic.

"I'm sure my letters gave you the gist of the progression of my feelings towards you." Patrick's tone was full of self-deprecation and Shelagh wanted to assure him that reading his heartfelt words had filled her with such joy when he added, "Only it doesn't seem as sweet as your account."

"Sweet?" She burst out, pulling her hand from his hold. "My infatuation with you was agony, Patrick!" Standing up, she walked over to the fireplace. With her back to him she added, "I was in love and it was against every rule. I couldn't tell anyone and unburden myself." She spun to face him and found that he had stood but remained at a distance. "And then you kissed my hand and every defense that I had erected for myself crumbled."

A lone tear slid down her cheek and she cursed its presence. Patrick took a tentative step towards her as though she was a deer that might get spooked and run. His voice, when he spoke was low, remorseful, "Forgive me? I was selfish that day. I was weak where you had been so strong."

He held open his arms and she moved swiftly into them, laying her head against his chest, and sighed, "There's nothing to forgive, Patrick. Had you not been so bold, I may never have been convinced that my feelings were reciprocated."

"Then forgive my poor word choice. When I said 'sweet' I was meaning as opposed to myself who on occasion felt quite lecherous."

She looked up at him in confusion, body still held against his. "Lecherous?"

Shelagh found it almost comical as she watched the discomfort on Patrick's face as he struggled to find the words adequate to explain, "I'd always thought of you as an extraordinarily skilled midwife, a caring nurse and an esteemed colleague. And I will admit to a certain level of curiosity at times about your call to the religious life at such a young age, but it never went further than that. It wasn't until Timothy was regaling me with tales of Nonnatus – in which you were always the star of the show – on a regular basis that I realised I was getting to know you through him."

He paused, and Shelagh couldn't find anything particularly lascivious in his words, though she did resolve to think back on every conversation she'd had with Timothy later in the evening.

Intrigued, she prompted, "Go on."

"Armed with all these tidbits of information, the next time I saw you, it felt like I was seeing you for the first time and it stunned me how beautiful you were. There was beauty in everything you did; I was addicted. After a while I realised that I was looking at you as a woman and not a religious sister and for that I am sorry. That wasn't fair to you."

Shelagh, with her head still pressed against Patrick's chest, could feel his heat thumping a strong, reassuring rhythm and that, coupled with his candid words, left her feeling a little lightheaded. To have gone from the grief that underscored her crisis of faith to hiding an all-consuming love for a man that was forbidden to her, to then being diagnosed with a life-threatening illness to this? Was there a word that did justice to this moment? If this was God's plan for her, she was indeed a blessed woman. This love was a gift.

Attempting to find her voice, she once again looked up in to his face, seeing the tight set of his jaw and a little twitch in his brow, she sought to assuage his fears, "Patrick,"

Before she could go on, he interrupted, his voice tight and strained, "Please don't tell me it doesn't matter; I may not be a man of faith, but I know that fantasising about a Nun is crossing a boundary."

"Fantasising?" She whispered, more to herself than for want of clarification. The concept was almost alien to her, and painted his words in a different light. He had looked upon her ' _as a woman_ '. Had she herself fantasised about him in such a raw way? She realised that she hadn't allowed herself to stray that far. Her self-discipline, honed over years of servitude had allowed her to clamp down on thoughts of that nature. However, it would be untruthful for her to say that the stirrings of desire had been completely absent, he was certainly an aesthetically pleasing man.

"You must think me a beast."

His voice held such remorse and she trusted him all the more for it. "I do not think you are a beast Patrick." And she was relieved to find that she truly didn't. While inexperienced, she was in no way naive to the workings of intimate relationships. She had seen the best and worst of love and lust in Poplar and drawn her conclusions accordingly.

He looked into her eyes for a long moment, as if testing a theory and when at last he spoke, his words were pensive, "Shelagh Mannion may not but Sister Bernadette, I think would have."

Shelagh chuckled and rested her hand against Patrick's cheek, "Sister Bernadette would have been mortified!" Her assessment was an attempt to lighten the mood, but she couldn't bear the crestfallen expression on his face, and sought to sooth him, however in doing so, spoke words without censor, "But _I_ find it rather thrilling."

Patrick's eyes widened, and his eyebrows arched in surprise. Shelagh for her part, dropped her hand from his cheek and took a step backwards, mortified that she had spoken so brazenly.

"Shelagh, please don't be embarrassed to say what you are feeling," he paused, "and definitely don't be embarrassed to _feel_ what you're feeling."

She wanted to agree… or disagree. She wanted to say some something, anything really, but found she couldn't comprehend her own thoughts and feelings enough to articulate herself.

Patrick filled the silence, "I want to know you, Shelagh. Please trust me." He held his hand out to her, an invitation.

"Oh Patrick," She delicately accepted his proffered hand. "I want to let you in, to tell you everything there is to know. Only I don't really know who I am now. And what I feel is so new, I'm overwhelmed with the weight of it all."

Patrick guided her back over to the settee and knelt down before her, so he could look straight in to her eyes that were so full of question. "Shelagh, I want to us to spend ours lives together; I want us to be a family. But if you need time, time to discover who you are, I will be here waiting."

Her voice was soft and shy as she spoke but held a conviction that was absolute, "I don't want to walk this path alone, Patrick. It has taken such a long time to get to here, I want us to make a start, together." Her words echoed those spoken only yesterday and she was surprised to find that it already felt like so long ago.

Patrick's face lit up at her words and he kissed her hand. "Then let us discover who Shelagh Mannion is _together_. We don't need to rush, and you don't need to be afraid, it's just the two of us."

Shelagh again felt lightheaded and this time enjoyed the warm, fuzzy feeling that Patrick's words evoked. That was until she spotted the glaringly obvious floor in his plan. "Just the two of us sounds perfectly lovely yet I feel that you are forgetting someone."

Patrick looked adorably confused. "God?"

Shelagh didn't know if she was shocked or amused, or somewhere in-between. "Timothy!"

He smiled at her sheepishly and winked, "Don't let on to Timothy that I mistook him for God, I'll never hear the end of it."

When Shelagh didn't immediately respond, Patrick rushed to apologise, "Oh, I didn't mean to trivialise your faith-"

"I didn't take offense, Patrick. I was just thinking about Timothy,"

As if sensing where she was going, Patrick squeezed her hand, "He adores you."

Shelagh smiled, she had long had a soft spot for the young boy. "I adore him, too. I just want to be certain that he is happy with…" she trailed off, unsure. Patrick had said that he wanted them to spend their lives together, but it felt presumptuous of her to put a name to their situation before things were official.

Patrick looked thoughtful for a moment; Shelagh was even more confused when he smiled like he had remembered something but all he said was, "You _can_ be certain. But I'm afraid I need to get you back to your lodgings before curfew."

"Oh, I ought to have been checking the time." She made to stand up and Patrick let her, "If I set out now I should just get back in good time."

"You're not walking Shelagh, I will drive you back."

Bristling slightly at his commanding tone, she replied, "I am perfectly capable of walking back, thank you."

"I don't doubt that you are but it's cold out and I've already allowed your lungs to be assaulted by smoke this evening. It's a long walk in this weather."

Shelagh conceded and as they arrived back at her lodgings, Patrick turned to her as he switched the engine off. "I have a few things to do in the morning, but would you meet me at the Parish Hall around noon?"

"The Parish Hall?" She asked timidly.

He understood her misgivings immediately, "It will be empty, until much later on. Also, if you are agreeable, I would like to take you out on a proper date tomorrow evening."

Shelagh blushed and she thought herself juvenile, though something about the word 'date' made her truly giddy. She was still nervous about being seen stepping out with the local GP and while she knew that she couldn't hide forever, she'd rather have a little more time feeling inconspicuous. "A date would be most agreeable."

Patrick smiled brightly, "I know somewhere perfect, although it is a short drive out into the countryside."

Shelagh, exhaled, "That does sound _perfect_." Then, with a surge of courage, she leant across to him and kissed his cheek before quickly letting herself out of the car. With a small wave she disappeared in to the boarding house.

Patrick stared at the door for a few seconds, before shaking his head and starting the engine. "I have some shopping to do tomorrow." He said to himself, as he pulled away from the curb.


	5. Chapter 5

They were engaged. With the help of his son, he had proposed for the second time in his life and he had found that it was just as nerve-wracking as the first time and just as awe inspiring. As she had read Timothy's proposal of marriage, she had looked upon him with such wonder and he couldn't, for the life of him, understand how he could be so lucky.

His day had started out with not a little stress, he had set Timothy to work on the note and left the excited young Turner at his task while he took care of some house calls he really couldn't avoid. They of course, ran over and left him with precious little time to go shopping for that all-important purchase. Of which, Timothy insisted he be party to as he didn't believe his Dad could handle the task alone. Patrick wondered when his son had become an authority on women's jewellery but was more than happy to have Tim's involvement and blessing.

He almost wished he had forgone the trip to Nonnatus, though. He cursed whatever sense of propriety that had made him call in on Sister Julienne. Straightening his tie in the rear-view mirror of his car, he thought back to the visit.

* * *

Earlier that day...

 _Sister Julienne had greeted him at the door and warmly welcomed him in, as she always did, though Patrick thought she looked a little more weary than usual. Timothy had been more than happy to assist Fred in the garden, so it was just himself sitting at Sister Julienne's desk, when she asked,_

" _Dr. Turner, have you changed your mind?"_

 _He frowned, utterly confused by her smile that seemed to be gently mocking him. "I'm sorry, Sister?"_

" _You came here to ask me something, did you not?" She smiled again and continued, "I fear you are not your usual self; I have never found you to be at a loss for words, nor have I known you to fidget so much. I can only conclude that you are apprehensive about asking me something."_

 _Her last sentence, though an observation, came out with the inflection of a question. She had opened up the floor to him, yet he still struggled to find the words. Instead, in a moment of bravery, he placed the ring box on the table and pushed it towards her._

 _Sister Julienne carefully opened the box and studied the ring, her expression gave nothing away and she looked at Patrick as if cutting right through to his very soul. After a moment, she smiled, "Though I have always found you pleasant company, Dr. Turner, I rather think I am not in a position to marry you."_

 _Patrick spluttered and tried to grasp some words, but Sister Julienne only laughed and carried on,_

" _Forgive me, I couldn't help myself." She then sobered, "I believe that you are here to tell me that this is intended for someone who has recently found themselves in a position where marriage is now a possibility."_

 _He nodded, kicking himself for not just coming out with the words first. "Yes." He summoned up a little courage from somewhere deep within, "Yes, I want to spend my life with her."_

 _Again, he couldn't read anything in her expression when she spoke, "And that is what she wants too?"_

 _He smiled, genuinely, and nodded, "I am certain, Sister."_

 _After a moments contemplation, she probed, "Are you asking for my permission?_

 _Was he? He didn't really know, himself. He just had a strong sense that he needed to talk to her first. "No, not really. I think the only permission I want is hers."_

 _There was a flicker of approval across her face, before it became unreadable again, "Then?"_

 _Patrick scratched the nape of his neck, a sure tell that he was nervous. "I am certain she wants to marry me, and I know how much she adores Timothy. He definitely deserves her as a mother." He stopped, not sure what he wanted to say. There was just something on the periphery of his consciousness that he couldn't grasp, and it worried him._

" _Dr. Turner are you afraid that you don't deserve her love?"_

 _Ah. "Something like that." He admitted both to her and himself. "I'm being silly, aren't I?"_

" _No, it shows the depth of your feelings for her that you question your suitability." She paused, and then used his name, something that she had rarely ever done, "Patrick, love is not a question of deserving. I'm sure I don't need to tell you how brilliant a woman she is, even among our order I have yet to find one as compassionate and selfless as her. She is also fiercely intelligent and," she smiled indulgently, "really very beautiful."_

 _Patrick smiled and nodded his head in agreement, yet he sensed that Sister Julienne wasn't quite finished._

" _Just be mindful that you don't put her on a pedestal." She spoke kindly, "Don't look on her as a prize that you're not sure you deserve."_

 _He bowed his head, "I have loved her from afar for so long, knowing that it could never be. Now that everything I could ever want is within reach, it's hard not to see her as a prize. Not once had I considered that this could ever be a reality." He retrieved the ring box, "I do understand what you're saying though, Sister. Thank you."_

 _Patrick walked out of her office feeling as though his anxieties had been considerably lessened. A simmering excitement started to take its place. He checked his watch, noticing that he didn't have much time to get to the parish hall and started to wonder if Tim would mind staying here when an unwelcome voice stopped him in his tracks._

" _Ah, Dr. Turner, just the man I wanted to see!" Sister Evangelina's voice rang loud down the corridor. Her chest was puffed up, shoulders squared, she was battle ready and Patrick had no choice but to submit._

" _I have just heard some very intriguing information from young Timothy."_

 _Patrick sighed, he'd asked Tim to keep the proposal a secret and his son had heartily agreed that it would be a shame if the surprise was ruined for Shelagh. Perhaps he had just been too excited, he couldn't fault the boy for that, he only wished it had not been this particular Nun that Tim had spilled the beans to._

 _Patrick had quickly decided his only option was to go on the offensive, "Sister, you may not approve, but I love her. I am completely, ridiculously, maybe even hopelessly in love with her and I don't think I will ever understand why, but she loves me too. So, yes, I am going to ask her to marry me and if she consents-"_

 _His words were spectacularly cut off by his son, "Dad!" The young boy's eyes were as wide as saucers, "It's supposed to be a secret! You shouldn't tell all of Shelagh's friends or she might find out!"_

 _At that moment, he would have thought it a blessing if the ground were to open up and swallow him whole. Unfortunately for him, it didn't, so he tore his eyes away from his son and bravely faced the formidable Sister._

 _She was just staring at him, mouth agape, "Shelagh?" she finally muttered, her eyes softening just for a moment before her face hardened, and her eyes moved quickly as though everything was now slotting together in her mind. "Well you certainly pounced quickly, Dr. Turner! I might have known she'd had her head turned, how long have you been sniffing around her, then?"_

 _With his nerves frayed and the ball of excitement that had been bouncing around in his stomach turned to a solid lead weight nestled in his gut, her outburst was more than he could stand. A cutting retort was on the tip of his tongue before Sister Julienne's calm voice cut through the tension._

" _It would seem that things are getting a little excitable out here, wouldn't you agree Timothy?"_

 _As the boy quickly nodded in agreement, she carried on, "Would you be kind enough to go and fetch Fred out of the garden and then if you could find Sister Monica Joan? I think it's time for a spot of tea and cake."_

 _Timothy smiled and ran back towards the garden, appearing happy to escape the stand-off._

 _Sister Evangelina was the first to speak, "I apologise, Timothy didn't need to hear that."_

 _Sister Julianne smiled and held her fellow Sister's arm, either in a gesture of comfort or in an attempt to hold the larger woman back if need be. "I'm sure Sister Evangelina also apologises for speaking to you in such a manner, Dr. Turner," not giving her companion time to speak, (though Patrick could see well enough from her face that she didn't approve of her Sister apologising for her) she elaborated, "I'm sure you know how dear Sister Bernadette was to all of us at Nonnatus, her decision to leave the order was like losing a family member, it's taking us a little time to adjust but her health and happiness is all that is important to us. It does make it easier knowing that she isn't alone in all of this, that she will have a new family that will love and support her."_

 _Patrick could only smile his thanks, he had a feeling that her words had been for Sister Evangelina more than himself._

 _Sister Evangelina sighed and admitted, "She is missed dearly, I swear she was the only one who could keep those nurses in-line too, not to mention Sister Monica Joan." Then she furrowed her brow, "She'd not been herself for a while, any fool could see. I put it down to the TB once she was diagnosed, but it seems I should have been looking closer to home."_

 _Patrick now felt as though he was intruding on a conversation between the Sisters and it was almost frightening to him to see Sister Evangelina show a sentimental side. He knew that she was a great nurse and midwife and that her gruff style was softened when needed by her patients but outside of work, she really had only ever shouted at him._

" _It would seem that two hearts have been yearning for each other for longer than any of us realised." Sister Julienne said to her fellow Sister softly and Patrick was grateful that they would at least have her support going forward._

" _Yes, well, forgive me for not jumping to that conclusion but Religious Sister's don't usually have man troubles! Now if it had been one of the nurses, I'd have given good odds on it." She then looked Patrick up and down before saying, "I suppose if she was going to end up with anyone you'll do!"_

" _Thank you, Sister." He said skeptically, surely, she wasn't complimenting him?_

" _Better the devil you know, I say!" She'd shot back._

 _Of course not, he thought to himself._

* * *

Coming back to the present, he decided that if he adjusted his tie anymore, he be at risk of strangling himself. No need to be nervous, just a first real date with his fiancé. He had thought on Sister Julienne's words in between patients during the afternoon and he saw the wisdom in her words. Still, that didn't mean that he couldn't be in awe of the woman he loved.

Picking up the flowers from their resting place on the passenger seat, he made his way to the front door of the boarding house that Shelagh was staying at. Before he had chance to knock, the door opened, and he was faced with Mrs. Douglas the landlady, and he quickly realised that he was no longer going to be able to sneak in to see Shelagh by pretending it was a GP call.

"Oh, Dr. Turner? With flowers as well? Now, this _is_ interesting." She was a small, rotund lady with a kind face that surrounded shrewd eyes.

When he spoke, he used his 'doctor voice' as Tim had dubbed it. "Hello, Mrs. Douglas. Are you keeping well?"

"Don't think you can try that charm on me, Doctor! You are a sly fox, I take it Miss Mannion is slightly more than just a patient?" She chuckled, "Or are flowers part of the service now?"

Patrick stuttered, he had not been expecting this and didn't know quite how to respond, "No, no… I mean yes. Yes, she is and no they aren't."

Mrs. Douglas raised an eyebrow and her smile was knowing. "Oh, if you're tongue-tied now, you just wait."

Before he could respond, a welcome voice floated from somewhere behind the door. "Oh, please stop teasing him, Anne. You are wicked." Then she appeared in full view wearing a navy-blue dress that was cinched in at the waist with a skirt that flowed out gently as she walked, she wore a matching blue cardigan and her hair was pinned up in an intricate style that only served to accentuate the graceful line of her neck.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss that creamy expanse, and the more he tried to push that thought to the back of his mind, the more prominent it became. He swallowed and cleared his throat, "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." She smiled shyly, and he felt lost in her gaze.

The spell was promptly broken, "Are those yellow carnations?" Mrs. Douglas started to shake her head in dismay, "Oh dear, oh dear. Yellow carnations symbolise disdain and disappointment. You should have got red or pink to symbolise love."

Patrick resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Well, I don't really know what they are. They are from Tim, actually," He looked at Shelagh, "You left the others in our kitchen and they were looking a little sad this morning. Maybe Tim was channeling some disdain at being left with Mrs. Penny tonight into his flower choice."

Shelagh laughed and took the flowers from him, "I think they're beautiful." She turned to her landlady and asked if she would put them in some water for her as she made to join Patrick on the porch step.

"Of course, my dear. I have a lovely vase you can borrow. I'll leave them in your room for you."

As the couple turned to leave, Mrs. Douglas called out, "Have a lovely night, don't forget curfew and if that son of yours needs minding any time, I'd be happy to have him round here, Doctor."

Patrick smiled back at her while whispering to Shelagh as they walked to his car, "Well, there's a good deterrent for when he won't do his homework or tidy up after himself."

Shelagh laughed as she settled into the passenger side and once Patrick had made his way back around to the driver's side, she said, "She really is a lovely lady, Patrick. A little bit nosy but she means well. Actually, she realised who I was today, or at least she figured out who I used to be."

Patrick set off driving and asked, "How did she respond?"

"She laughed for quite some time, actually. I can't say that it was the response I was expecting but by the time I'd recounted most of my life up to the present day, she had me in stiches too. Honestly, I thought she'd want me to leave when she found out."

He didn't know how to reply to that, so he squeezed her hand, hoping it would at least reassure her. People would talk when they found out and voice their opinions loudly and indiscriminately, it was inevitable in these parts. He wasn't even sure whether their newly engaged status would help or hinder.

Shelagh then laughed, pulling him away from the path his thoughts were travelling. "Though when she noticed the ring, she got quite excited and I was subjected to numerous wedding albums, each containing more photos than the last. I'm quite certain that she has more cousins than there are pubs in the East End."

Patrick laughed easily and found himself enjoying the carefree way Shelagh spoke, it felt comfortable between them where he had feared there may be awkwardness.

"Is she widowed?" He asked.

"Yes, lost her husband in the war. She said that she loves running a boarding house as she gets to live vicariously through others, I don't think she bargained on someone quite like me though."

Patrick chuckled and squeezed her hand again, "Well, it looks like I won't be able to sneak up to your room anymore under the pretense of being your GP."

"No, I expect not." She was quiet for a second, then added, "It's probably for the best. I don't think I want her living _that_ vicariously."

Patrick chuckled, "Definitely not."

They spent the car journey largely talking about Timothy, it was a safe topic and conversation flowed easily. Soon enough they arrived at the little town that Patrick had first passed through a few months back, he'd noticed the new Parisian style restaurant with signs boasting its romantic ambiance and at the time he had only felt deep sadness at the thought of the woman he loved alone and fighting a deadly disease in a sanatorium. Now he could banish that painful memory and replace it with a thoroughly romantic evening.

Yes, that was the plan and it would have been a great plan had there not been a fire-engine outside the restaurant and what looked to be the immediate aftermath of small crisis.

"Oh, my goodness, Patrick, look. What has happened here?" Shelagh gasped.

"I think we should see if we can help." Patrick ventured as he pulled the car to a stop.

They both jumped from the car and scanned the area to see where they might be needed. A crowd had gathered but it was difficult to separate the bystanders from any potential injured. Patrick usually found that the best course of action when everything appeared to be in disarray was to head for the biggest crowd of people. That was where the action usually was.

"Excuse me, sorry," Patrick pushed his way through people, "I'm a doctor, is anyone hurt?"

"Yes! Here, help!" A woman's panicked voice rang out and Patrick darted towards the sound with Shelagh hot on his heels.

There was a young man laying prone on the ground, his face was pale, and he groaned and looked to Patrick to be on the verge of unconsciousness. Kneeling beside the man, Patrick took stock of the situation and immediately found the most pressing issue, leg wound. Pulse was strong but slowing down.

Shelagh knelt beside the woman whose hand was clamped down on the injured man's thigh, dark blood was escaping through her fingers. "What's your name?"

"Ann-Annabelle."

"Alright Annabelle, you have done such a good job, but we can take over for you now."

"I can't move my hand; there was a big chunk of glass and… and he was screaming so I pulled it out and then blood started spurting out everywhere! It won't stop bleeding!" Her voice was frantic.

"You can do this, you just need to trust us. Once you remove your hand, Dr. Turner will take over." Shelagh soothed.

The woman jerked backwards, suddenly removing her hands and Patrick was quick to place his hand over the wound. Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough to avoid a rapid stream of blood that spurted with such force that it hit his neck and chin. "Definitely femoral artery. It's not big but it doesn't need to be to cause problems."

Shelagh gravely nodded her agreement, "Are you wearing a belt?"

"Yes I am." Despite the gravity of the situation he couldn't stop himself quirking an eyebrow at her, "However, seeing as my hands are now occupied and you are going to have to do the removing, may I suggest my tie as an alternative?"

"That seems appropriate." She said primly.

Patrick reminded himself to laugh about that later. He lifted his chin and felt her cold hands ghost across his neck as she loosened the knot. Not exactly how he imagined their first foray into undressing each other would go. Once she had removed it from his neck and expertly tied a tourniquet in place, he looked at the woman who had introduced herself as Annabelle, she looked like she was about to go into shock. Thankfully he heard sirens in the distance.

"Shelagh, my medical bag is in the car boot. Could you fetch it for me please?"

As she turned back towards the car, a fireman knelt beside Patrick. "Good thing you happened by, Doc. Ambulance is on its way and the lad's father has been contacted."

Patrick kept one hand firmly over the wound and used his other to monitor the man's pulse. "Is anyone else injured? Any burns?"

"Nothing but a few bumps and scrapes. Fire was contained quickly and just before you arrived, most people headed over to the White Heart Inn, landlady will be dishing out pints and plasters no doubt."

Patrick looked up to see Shelagh briefing the ambulance crew as they walked over. "-and the blood loss appears to be quite significant."

There was a flurry of activity, Patrick did his best to compress and dress the wound, hoping that the dressing and his sacrificed tie would do the job until the ambulance reached the hospital. Annabelle had tearfully but profusely thanked them both as she disappeared into the back of the medical vehicle moments before it sped away.

Though a handful of police officers and firefighters were milling around, it suddenly felt eerily quiet to Patrick. It always did after a crisis, once the crowds had dispersed and the adrenaline subsided.

Shelagh smiled sardonically, "I imagine we won't make the dinner reservation?"

He laughed, "Technically we have but I fear the food will be slightly overdone."

She furrowed her brow and then glanced at the now cordoned off building, before bringing her eyes back to his. "Oh."

Patrick took her hand in his, feeling a jolt of joy as he touched the engagement ring on her finger, "Not to worry, I have a plan B."

She let him lead her a little further down the road, "Where are we- Oh, is this a pub?"

Patrick's confidence faltered, and he slowed to a stop, "Is that alright? If you're not comfortable here we don't have to go in. I just thought that…"

Unexpectedly, Shelagh cut him off, "As long as it has a warm fire and serves decent whiskey, I'm happy." She said resolutely as she walked ahead of him into the public house.

Patrick felt certain he must have misheard, "Whiskey?"

The warmth cloaked them as they entered and there was a moment of silence as nearly all the patrons turned around to stare. Then, applause broke out and Patrick felt himself slapped on the back by various people.

"Come in, come in! If it isn't the heroes of the hour!" A tall, slim lady called from behind the bar. "Now then, up the stairs, first door on the right – go and get yourselves cleaned up and I'll see about getting a couple of pies in the oven, how does that sound?"

"That's very kind, thank you." Shelagh responded politely though Patrick noticed how she pulled her now bloodied cardigan close around her. Either she was chilly, or she was uncomfortable under the scrutiny of what seemed like half of the village. He would put money on the latter.

As he followed Shelagh up the stairs, Patrick found himself mesmerised by the sway of her hips. This dress fitted her beautifully, such a shame it was splattered with blood. He wondered if she had bought any more outfits. He hoped so, it was just so thrilling to see her out of the Habit. As they reached the top, Patrick wondered when he had become so interested in women's fashion.

Shelagh guided him over to a stool in the restroom and instructed him to sit down while she washed her blood-stained hands and soaked a cloth in hot water. "Shirt off, please."

"Excuse me?"

Shelagh she was looking everywhere but at him, "I just thought that if we are to salvage our date, we need to get that blood off your neck and face and I'm sure it would make for a more comfortable evening for you if your shirt was dry." She may have appeared somewhat uncomfortable, but her tone was no-nonsense, he was familiar with it having seen her with enough patients to know that arguing was not in his best interests.

He started unbuttoning, "Very practical," then slipped the shirt from his shoulders, leaving himself in just his vest which he noticed also had a few specks of red. "I don't know, first my tie and now my shirt, Miss Manion, you might be more than I can handle."

She rolled her eyes and rung the excess water from the cloth and Patrick was pleased to see a slight blush high on her cheeks and if he wasn't mistaken, her eyes definitely loitered for a second on his chest. A sudden wave of insecurity crashed over him and he wondered why he had never attempted a pull up. Insecurity aside, he was certain that teasing her was fast becoming his favourite pastime and he was utterly convinced that she was capable of giving as good as she got. One day maybe.

Before he could dwell on that thought she nudged his knees apart and moved into the space between them; his breath caught, and he held it, scared to breathe lest this reality shatter and fall apart. He kept his eyes locked on her waist, and his hands gripped the edge of the stool. If he looked up, he would be consumed.

A gentle hand traced the line of his jaw and then delicately tipped his chin up. Carefully she started cleaning the blood away, methodically moving from one side to the other. Her breathe tickled his neck and Patrick squeezed his eyes shut. Her proximity was causing a definite sensory overload, he could feel the warmth of her body as her legs brushed his and he almost laughed at the absurdity of something so innocent causing him this much discomfort.

She removed the damp cloth from his neck but didn't step away from him. "Patrick?"

He took a deep breathe before opening his eyes and looking up in to hers that were full of concern. "I just felt a little, ah, light-headed."

"Oh," She took a step back, "Well then, we better see to that pie the landlady promised. You must be starving after a full day of work and well…" She trailed off and looked at her ring, smiling indulgently.

Patrick noticed her little smile; his heart soared, "And I spent my lunch break proposing."

They spent a moment just smiling at each other, basking in the newness of it all. Shelagh was the first to come back to herself, moving away and handing him back his shirt. "Well you shouldn't make a habit of it."

As he re-dressed he quipped, "Of skipping lunch or proposing?"

"Both!" She laughed.

"I'll do my best but honestly, the way you smiled when I proposed," he paused and gently caressed her cheek, "I could become addicted to it." Punctuating the admission with a gentle kiss to his fiancé's head, he felt contented despite the unfortunate turn the evening had taken.

"Technically, Timothy proposed and surely you can think of other ways to make me smile."

It sounded suggestive to Patrick's ears, and he might have responded with a lascivious comment had he not noticed her open and almost innocent expression. Their relationship was days old and she hadn't been out of the Habit and Wimple for much longer. No, he would reign himself in until he was sure she was comfortable.

"How about I start with getting you that whiskey?"

* * *

To anyone who has been following this story, I apologise for leaving it so long! Lots of changes have kept me very busy in real life. Thank you to anyone continuing to read :)


	6. Chapter 6

Returning downstairs after cleaning up, they had been ushered into the best seats in the house. Or so the landlady had assured them. Shelagh was inclined to believe her, as they sat on a table sized for two, next to a roaring log fire and situated in a cosy corner away from the bar that left her feeling as though they were in a world of their own. As they ate, they took turns in asking questions, simple inquiries that provided the puzzle pieces that made up the picture of the other person. They had covered their respective schooldays, favourite childhood books, talked of their families and bygone times. They'd journeyed on a whistle stop tour of each other's past and just as Shelagh began to ponder another topic, Patrick, leant forward, face a mask of curiosity, and asked, "What's your favourite colour?"

"Patrick, you're just being silly now, have you run out of conversation topics?" She teased.

"I am completely serious. It is absolutely imperative that I know my future wife's preferences. What is your favourite colour?"

She sighed and took a couple of seconds to think. "I suppose I quite like green."

"Lovely."

She took a sip from her glass, "What about you? What's your favourite colour?"

"Oh, I don't have a favourite colour."

"Patrick, you are impossible." She shot back at him immediately, though she couldn't help smiling at his humour.

"Well," He looked directly into her eyes, making her stomach flip. "I think I am definitely becoming partial to blue."

The love and sincerity that shone from his eyes made her skin tingle with exhilaration and she almost wanted to shy away from the attention; from the weight of his gaze. It was second nature for her to deflect or demure. She hadn't thought it possible that she could feel as exposed as she did when walking through Poplar in ordinary clothes for the first time, with the safety and anonymity of the Habit gone. Yet, in this moment, she felt wholly vulnerable.

Despite this, she couldn't bring herself to break eye contact. Hadn't she yearned for his attention? For him to look at her with all the love in his eyes that she knew she carried for him in her heart. To move forward, to realise their potential, she would endure the vulnerability, knowing that in doing so, they would later reap the rewards of a trusting relationship. She had faith in that.

Patrick leant forward, elbows resting on the table as he closed some of the space between them and Shelagh instinctively did the same. Taking her hand in his, he gently brushed his thumb across each finger until he came to the engagement ring.

"Do you like it?" His voice was quiet, unsure and, she realised, _vulnerable_.

"It's beautiful, Patrick." She reassured gently.

"I…" He paused and then brought her hands to his lips, kissing one and then the other before speaking again, "I was worried that it was too soon or that you wouldn't be comfortable with a ring. I know that you renounced possessions as a Nun and I would hate to cause you any-"

"Patrick," she interrupted firmly, squeezing his hands, "I won't lie and say that this is an easy adjustment for me, I feel uncertain about a lot of things and there is much for me to figure out but becoming your wife, being by your side, that is where I am meant to be; where I _want_ to be."

"Shelagh." His voice was little more than a breathy whisper.

"Please never doubt that and…" She took a deep breath, reminding herself that it was okay to be vulnerable with him, "I'm not Sister Bernadette anymore, I am not bound by the vows that she took." Her voice wobbled as she spoke, but she hoped he would understand the full implications.

"Will you talk to me, Shelagh, if you need to? About anything."

"I'm not used to talking about myself. Everything I've ever needed counsel on went straight to God." She admitted and felt uncertain about his reaction, she knew that he wasn't a religious man.

"Well, I can't compete with infinite wisdom," he smiled as he spoke and there was no condescension or mocking to his remark, putting her at ease, "I just want you to know that you can come to me with anything."

Her instinct was to dismiss him, say that everything was perfectly fine, but she felt sure he would be able to see through her. Besides, this was unfamiliar territory but that didn't equate to being wrong, she just had to trust him, "I did struggle a bit yesterday," she managed to admit, her words coming out soft and reflective.

Patrick practically dropped her hands and pulled back away from her, "Oh Shelagh, I am sorry. Was it too much?" He ran a hand nervously through his hair. "Was it Timothy with the snails? He can get quite excitable over the strangest things or was it… was it the kiss?"

Shelagh, completely bemused by his worried ramblings found that she needed to take a second to comprehend everything her fiancé had asked. She checked off each point in order, "Last night was lovely, Patrick; Timothy's snail collection was certainly _interesting,_ but I don't scare that easily." This time it was Shelagh that reached for Patrick's hand, "And if you recall, I asked for that kiss." The last part came out as a whisper steeped in shyness.

She could see the relief in his face and marveled at the fact that he could be just as insecure as she was in their new relationship. He smiled at her so sweetly that she felt her heart skip, but just as quickly it came, it was replaced by a frown,

"Then what did you struggle with?"

"I feel silly even mentioning it, really it's nothing."

Patrick surprised her by picking up his chair and moving it around next to her. His proximity both thrilled and terrified her but she felt only delight as he lightly placed one arm around her shoulder and used his free hand to hold one of hers. It was comforting yet appropriate for their current whereabouts. His words only served to delight her more, "Nothing is silly if it bothers you, Shelagh."

She took a deep breath, "I don't have any clothes. Well, I didn't until yesterday, I bought a few items, but it was a…" she trailed off, searching for the right word, "a difficult experience."

His fingers started to ghost over her shoulder blade, a gesture of comfort, "How so?"

"It was so confusing, everything is different and the last time I bought clothes for myself I was practically a teenager." She admitted, looking resolutely at the table.

"You didn't enjoy it? I thought you might have found it liberating to choose you own clothes."

She looked up at him then. "I thought so too. I've often admired Nurse Lee's dresses and Nurse Miller always looks so smart." She paused, "Strictly speaking I wasn't supposed to be coveting their clothes but I would unconsciously find myself wondering what colour I might have picked for a certain dress of if the skirt length would suit me."

Patrick smiled and let her carry on.

"I thought it would be the easiest change I am to face, but in truth I was just so overwhelmed. I bought a few bits to see me right for a while, but I didn't even-" She stopped speaking abruptly, cursing herself for not stopping sooner. She just knew that Patrick would be too intrigued to let it go and she wasn't sure if she could be quite that honest with him just yet.

"Didn't even what?"

"Oh, it's of no concern, Patrick." She valiantly tried to deflect.

"If it's upset you, I find it concerning."

Shelagh squirmed in her seat, she didn't want him to think that she wasn't comfortable enough with him to open up but how could she explain, "It's just not something that one talks about in polite company."

"Then feel free to regard me as impolite company." He winked and then added, "You don't have to tell me but remember, I'm a doctor so there isn't much that I haven't seen or heard," she rewarded him with a chuckle before he went on, "And I have been married before."

Some might have found the reminder disconcerting, yet Shelagh understood his meaning and took strength from it. Maybe it would be better to air her concern now, it wasn't like she had anyone else to talk to about it. "Well I struggled with the outfit selections, as I said but… I was completely baffled by the selection of, uh, undergarments." The last word was practically whispered but she carried on without pause, "Like you, I have seen and heard my fair share, but that doesn't help me to know what I am supposed to do. I naively thought that when I renounced my vows, it would all become clear to me, like unlocking a part of me that has just been hidden away for years." When he didn't look disturbed or worse, laugh at her, she ventured on, "Being a woman is almost a foreign concept to me, Patrick, I don't know what is expected."

Patrick gently tilted her chin up, so he could look her in the eye as he spoke, "Nothing is expected, Shelagh. Not where I am concerned."

"You say that now, Patrick but-"

"No 'buts', Shelagh. You are all I want, just as you are. Everything will come with time, like most things, it will be trial and error for a while, but we will get there together."

Shelagh shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder, she felt so full of love for him and contented. It was such a new experience and made her feel as though she could handle all of the trials and brush off all of the errors if it meant that he would hold her like this and that they would face everything together.

"Besides, I fell for you in a Habit and Wimple-"

Her laughter erupted so spontaneously that Patrick was cut off mid-sentence, she felt giddy with the strength of her love for him. He started to laugh too, and they shared a moment of delight before Shelagh sobered up, "Thank you, Patrick."

Their eyes locked and Patrick kissed her, so gentle and sweet at first but then a little more insistent and she found it thrilling enough that she almost forgot where they were. Almost.

She broke the contact with a gasp, eyes darting around their surroundings. "Patrick," she gasped, "such overt displays of affection should really be reserved for the privacy of one's home."

"This coming from the lady who was moments ago speaking about undergarments in public!" He countered dramatically, and she felt the corners of her mouth tugging at a smile, though she tried to suppress it. "Speaking of home, we better get you back before curfew, I do not think I want to incur the wrath of Mrs. Douglas."

He was right, she knew that he was, but she found that she just didn't want the evening to end. They collected themselves, thanked the barmaid and started to make their way back to Patrick's car. As they walked, Shelagh began to feel saddened at the thought of spending the night alone in her room at her lodgings. It didn't make any sense to her because it wasn't as though she was accustomed to anything else apart from spending her nights alone. She was sure that she didn't want to spend the night with him as married couples do, nothing so scandalous, but she craved his presence.

"Shelagh, you are frowning. Is something wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Patrick." She admitted softy. There would be time enough for them to share their nights together when they were married, she had the promise of that future encircling her finger and what could be better company through the night that the knowledge of what was to come.

They stopped beside his car, but he didn't move to open the door for her as was his custom, instead he leant against it, regarding her carefully. "I know the date didn't really go as planned, I wanted our first night as an engaged couple to be special."

"Patrick," she chuckled, melancholy mood having taken flight, softly she decided, "It was special."

He raised his eyebrows and nudged her playfully with his elbow, "Well, blood and pies aren't exactly most people's idea of romantic."

"We may have saved a young man's life, what could be more special?"

Patrick lit a cigarette. "We make a good team," he offered it to her, "We always have done."

She took a small drag, remembering another cigarette shared by this car. "Yes," she smiled as she handed it back, "I think so too."

He gallantly held the door open for her and on the drive back to Poplar, Shelagh found her thoughts consumed by the notion. They _had_ always worked well together, though she was sure that she worked well with everyone. Yet, working with Patrick had always felt different, they worked with a synchronicity that defied logic. Almost from their first meeting, she felt that she understood him, understood his drive to care for those most in need. Love hadn't played a part, of that she was sure. Love had blossomed much later; he had earned her respect early on and their professional relationship was easily forged. She suspected that was the reason she felt so comfortable with him now, they had a solid foundation to build upon.

Shelagh felt that she had been called to Patrick, to another life from that of servitude to God, yet she questioned whether she had fallen first and been granted her deepest desire to love and heal this broken family of father and son, or whether it was intended for her all along. She may never know. The strongest urge to connect with her Lord overtook her and she felt suddenly isolated. Her faith had sustained her for as long as she could remember and her life as a Nun had connected her in such a way that it permeated her soul, present in every moment, every task, every devotion.

Where did that leave her now? How could she reconcile her faith with her new path as a wife and mother? An idea struck her, "Patrick, tomorrow is Saturday-"

"I'm sorry, Shelagh, I have work to attend to tomorrow." He interrupted, preempting her.

"Actually, I was wondering if Timothy might be free to help me with something?"

"Oh. Well, yes, I think he will be. He tends to do his homework in the morning and then go out to play with his friend Jack in the afternoon. I'm sure he'd love to spend some time with you though. What did you have in mind?"

Shelagh smiled, "Just an adventure." She would enlist Timothy's help and she would start to forge a new path in which family and faith could unite.

"Am I allowed to say that I am incredibly envious of my son?" Patrick sighed, "All I have to look forward to is a mountain of paperwork."

Patrick guided the car to a stop outside of Shelagh's lodgings. "Would you mind waiting a second for me, Patrick, I just want to run inside to get something."

He agreed, and she gracefully extracted herself from the car and hurried inside. Within a moment, she found herself back in the car handing Patrick an envelope, Timothy's name decorating the front in her neat cursive. "Would you please give this to Timothy?"

Patrick readily agreed, "I will, and I am certain he will be incredibly excited."

"Oh, well, it's nothing too exciting."

He took her hand in his and kissed it. "Shelagh, you agreeing to marry me has made me happy beyond words and as much as I might feel that I don't deserve you, Timothy does. His mother loved him fiercely and since she passed, I have struggled to make time to just have fun with him, take him on adventures and… you embracing him, it means everything to me."

"Patrick, he is a dear to me as you are."

"I really wish we were in the privacy of my living room right now."

She was sure that she understood but there was no harm in playing coy, "Why's that?"

"I would really like to kiss you goodnight."

"I think, on this occasion, we could extend the remit to your car." She enjoyed the way his smile lit up his whole face, "It is rather dark after all."

"I agree, what could be more private?" Patrick asked as he leant towards her.

Shelagh's breath caught in anticipation and just as she was about to close her eyes, the car was flooded with light. Patrick and Shelagh jumped away from each other like magnets being repelled. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Mrs. Douglas standing on her porch and making a show of pointing at her watch.

Patrick's face looked thunderous which only had the effect of making Shelagh laugh, "Well, it would seem as though I am pushing the boundaries of curfew."

"Would it have really have done her any harm to allow us a few more minutes?" He grumbled.

Shelagh squeezed his hand and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, "Thank you for a lovely evening, Patrick."

* * *

Patrick let himself into his house, still feeling sore that he didn't get to end the evening with a kiss.

"Well well well, what time do you call this, father?" Timothy mocked from the kitchen where he was pouring himself a glass of water.

"What time do _you_ call this? You should be fast asleep already."

"I was thirsty."

Patrick raised an eyebrow.

Timothy looked sheepish. "And I was waiting to see how your date went. Did you spill food on your collar? I said you should have taken me too. Goodness knows what Shelagh must have thought."

Patrick touched his collar, remembering the incident. "It's not food, Tim."

The young boy's eyes widened as his mouth gaped open, "Is it lipstick?! Jack said that his older brother got a clip around the ear for coming home late with lipstick on his collar! His mum said she didn't want another scandal on her hands." Timothy grinned, "Dad, I hope you weren't being scandalous!"

Patrick sighed and covered his eyes in mock despair, he had no idea where his son got it from sometimes, he'd have to ask Granny Parker about Marianne at this age. "Timothy, it is _not_ food and it is certainly _not_ lipstick," _chance would be a fine thing_ , he thought to himself, "Now, stop being nosy and off to bed."

"Dad, you've hardly told me anything yet. I couldn't possibly sleep!"

Patrick chuckled at Timothy's enthusiasm and thought to himself how lucky he was that his son was excited about the new addition to their family. "Well, the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner it will be tomorrow."

Timothy scrunched up his face. "Tomorrow? What's happening tomorrow?"

"You tell me." Patrick handed his son the envelope and was just as curious to know what it enclosed.

The young Turner quickly ripped it open and pulled out a letter which he proceeded to read aloud,

" _Dearest Timothy,_

 _I would like to invite you on a quest tomorrow afternoon. It's very important to me so I require somebody that I trust to be there alongside me. Should you choose to join my quest, you will require a notebook and pen, a sensible pair of shoes for walking and a rain coat (just in case!). I will call around at your house at 1 o'clock._

 _Your friend,_

 _Shelagh_

 _P.s. bring sandwiches"_

Patrick watched as his son excitedly read through the letter again and felt such a wave of love for both his son and his soon to be wife. "That sounds exciting, Tim."

"Dad, can I go with Shelagh?" He implored, practically hopping from one foot to the other.

"Of course you can, son. It sounds like she needs your help with something important."

Timothy made a humming sound, curious, "Do you know what the quest is, Dad?"

"She didn't tell me, I was just instructed to pass along the letter."

Timothy jumped up, and ran towards his room, "The sooner I sleep, the sooner it will be tomorrow!" He called over his shoulder.

Patrick picked up the discarded envelope from the floor and looked at Shelagh's neat handwriting on the front. "I wonder how many sleeps it will be before I can call her my wife." He muttered to himself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you so much to BBC Shipper for helping me with this chapter!**

* * *

Timothy had completed his homework in record time and decided he would probably need to look at it again tomorrow, he was just too excited to concentrate. He was to embark on a real adventure with Shelagh and he could think of little else. He had always liked Sister Bernadette, she would always make time for him when everyone else was busy rushing around, it made him feel special like his mum used to. And now, she was going to marry his dad and move in with them, it was just smashing.

He combed his hair again and looked at the clock, "Hmm, ten minutes." He pulled the letter from his pocket and read through it again, feeling a great deal of responsibility. Shelagh needed help and she had asked _him_ , not the nuns or any of the nurses or Constable Noakes or even his dad who she must like a lot as she said she would marry him. She had asked him, and he wouldn't let her down.

Moving into the hallway, he frowned, where had he put his shoes? After a few moments scrambling around, he rushed over to the phone and frantically dialed the familiar number. The dial tone mocked him as he muttered, "Come on Dad, please be there."

"Doctor Turner speaking." The voice of his father rattled from the receiver.

"Dad! Thank goodness!" Timothy exclaimed.

"Timothy, what is it? Are you alright?"

"I can't find my shoes, you know the ones that I wear for Cubs outings. They're the best ones for walking and Shelagh said in the letter that I needed good shoes!"

There was a long sigh on the other end of the phone, "Timothy, we talked about you only calling this line in an emergency."

"Dad, I would very much class this as an emergency, she will be here soon, and I can't find them anywhere!"

"Have you checked under you bed…Oh, wait, I remember, I hid them in my office."

"Why on earth would you hide my shoes?"

"I was trying to make the place look tidy for Shel-"

There was a knock at the door, "Oh! She's here! Bye Dad." Tim rushed before unceremoniously putting the phone down on his father.

Opening the door, he smiled widely. "Hello Shelagh!"

"Good afternoon, Timothy. Are you ready to go?"

He stepped aside to let her in to the house, "I would have been ready early, only I couldn't find my good shoes. Dad seems to think that 'tidying up' means hiding things in his office!"

Timothy was rewarded with a chuckle from Shelagh and he found it made him feel warm inside. If making fun of his dad made her laugh, she was in for a real treat!

"Did you manage to make some sandwiches, Timothy?"

"Oh, yes. They're in a paper bag on the counter in the kitchen." He directed as he wrestled his _good_ shoes on. "And I have my notepad and pen ready. Can I know where we are going?"

"I thought first we would walk over to Hale Park and have a little picnic and I can explain the quest, does that sound good?"

He thought about the jam sandwiches he had made this morning, he'd put a double helping of jam in when his father wasn't looking but that didn't make for a very exciting picnic. "I only made sandwiches, but I can see what else we have in the cupboards, if you like?"

She lifted a basket that he hadn't noticed before. "Oh, don't you worry, I am well equipped for a picnic!"

As they sat on a bench by a lovely bed of flowers valiantly fighting against the cold of winter, Timothy dived into the picnic basket that Shelagh had brought and decided that she really was well equipped. "Are those jam tarts?"

"Yes, but I rather think sweets should follow savory and not the other way around. We might start with your sandwiches."

Timothy looked at his sandwiches and then at the veritable feast that Shelagh had brought, his sandwiches did not look appetising at all next to the cold cuts, the boiled eggs, there was even cheese and some pickled onions. "I don't think they-" Before he could finish, he watched in horror as Shelagh retrieved one of his efforts.

"Delicious!" She managed around a mouthful, "I can't tell you how long it has been since I have had a really good jam sandwich."

Timothy looked skeptical, "Dad says I put too much jam in them."

He was delighted when Shelagh shook her head and asserted, "Nonsense, you can never have too much jam!" She looked thoughtful and then added, "Maybe give your teeth a good brush when you get home though."

Timothy laughed and promised that he would, he hadn't been on a picnic that wasn't with the Cubs for a long time. And while he had fun with the Cubs, it was nice to be the center of attention. Shelagh laughed at his jokes and let him have the last boiled egg and when they finished the picnic with a jam tart each, he listened with rapt attention to her explanation of their afternoon's quest.

"Timothy, I need… well, that is, I would like to find a church that I can attend, as I am sure you can imagine, my faith is very important to me and now that I am not a religious sister anymore, I would like to find somewhere to worship."

"Well that shouldn't be too hard, there are lots of churches in London. What about Westminster Abbey? We went there on a school trip!"

"A good suggestion Timothy, but I rather think Westminster might be a little too grand for my needs and a little too far to travel."

"Oh, perhaps it is a bit big. Well there's All Saints, I used to go to Sunday School there."

Shelagh looked uncomfortable with that suggestion, but Timothy couldn't understand why, it was a perfectly nice church, the seats were a little uncomfortable but in his limited experience, he found all church seats somewhat uncomfortable.

"All Saints is another good suggestion but perhaps it would be… _nice_ to go a little bit further afield. Find somewhere new to explore."

"But not as far as Westminster?" Timothy teased.

"No." She affirmed kindly.

"Well I certainly understand why you said this was going to be a quest! Oh, I have an idea, we should buy a map and then we could circle all the churches that are the right distance away and visit them all and see which one you like the best!"

Shelagh smiled and dug further into the picnic basket, "I actually picked one up on the way over, and I borrowed an old compass from Mrs. Douglas. Every good adventure involves a bit of orienteering."

Timothy felt his mouth drop open, amazed, "Can I be in charge of the compass _and_ the map?"

"Well, why don't we take it in turns, we can keep swapping. That way, we will both keep looking with fresh eyes and we'll be less likely to get lost."

They had made their way over to St. Anne's in Limehouse and only took a couple of wrong turns, which Timothy knew were his fault, but he wasn't going to mention it. After visiting the church, they sat on the steps outside and made notes in Timothy's notebook. Shelagh was interested in the prayer meeting held on a Tuesday evening and thought that the parishioners they happened to meet were nice and welcoming. Timothy noted down that the seats were hard, but the kneelers were squishy and looked quite new.

The second church they arrived at smelled strongly of dust, which Timothy thought constituted an automatic no, though Shelagh said it was best to keep an open mind. Her mind was swiftly changed when the vicar was only interested in how large a donation she might provide.

"I would give the clothes off my back if someone needed them but I'm always suspicious when a conversation about money comes before a conversation about faith… or even a hello!" She explained to Timothy as they caught the bus to their next destination. "And you were right, that fusty smell would follow me around for days after service, I'm sure of it."

Timothy laughed at her distraught expression and then sobered, "Shelagh, why did you ask me to help you and not someone else?"

"Well, several reasons, actually. I knew that I needed someone canny, someone who would spot things that I wouldn't."

"Like the dust?"

"Exactly like the dust, Timothy. I also wanted somebody that I could trust. And most importantly, I thought it best that I asked someone who I could have fun with, who would see it as an adventure and not a chore."

Timothy smiled widely, he didn't think that an adult had ever said that he was canny, trustworthy _and_ fun. He doubted even Jack, his best friend, would give him such a glowing report. "I'm glad you asked me, I'm having a lot of fun and the jam tarts were really tasty."

The third church, of which Timothy could not remember the name, they ventured to was immediately dismissed as the caretaker seemed to recognise Shelagh and had a few unkind words for her. Shelagh had smiled politely and left but Timothy wanted more of an explanation.

When they were well on the way to their next 'circled church', he couldn't keep the curiosity at bay, "He said that you were a harlot."

"Oh dear, Timothy, please don't say that word!"

His suspicions had been right, "I knew it wasn't a nice thing to say, I should have told him not to speak to you like that!" How anybody could think that Shelagh was anything less than brilliant was a mystery to him.

Shelagh appeared way too calm for Timothy's liking. "It wasn't very nice, but he was just upset. I nursed his wife before she died. I spent a lot of time with him towards the end, he found a lot of comfort in prayer, he really is a good man."

"Is he mad at you because she died?"

"No, no, I think he was mad that I am no longer a Nun. I think he was more shocked than anything, don't give it any thought."

Timothy nodded and walked a bit further in silence, but he couldn't keep it up, he had too many questions. "Why aren't you a Nun anymore?"

He watched as Shelagh opened her mouth to speak but just as quickly shut it again, she did this several times before pointing at a bench across the road. As they sat down, she started to speak, "I'm not a Nun anymore because the religious life has many rules and obligations and I felt that at this point in time, my life was destined for a different path, one that is not… compatible with being a Nun."

"You couldn't have married Dad while you were a Nun?" Timothy surmised.

"No, I couldn't. Didn't your father explain this to you?"

Timothy laughed, "Sort of, it was almost as though he was talking in riddles. He does that when he's uncomfortable. All I really understood was that he loved you like he loved Mummy and that he wanted to marry you. I thought that you left Nonnatus because you were poorly though."

Shelagh looked deep in thought and Timothy liked that she spoke to him honestly, rather than telling him to mind his own business. "In a way you are right. When I was unwell… it put my life in perspective and where I had previously been pulled in two directions, now there was one clear path."

"You and Dad are perfect for each other; you both speak in riddles!" His tone was exasperated but he was happy that Shelagh had laughed and didn't tell him off for being cheeky.

Timothy had another question he wanted to ask and decided that now was a good time, "Why did you want to become a nun in the first place? There seems like so many rules and you have to be silent a lot and you look much nicer in ordinary clothes."

He was worried he might be asking too much, his father always told him that he didn't know when to stop sometimes, so he was pleasantly surprised when Shelagh smiled. "Well, it's a little hard to explain, but I will try. Like you, I lost my mother when I was very young, and for the longest time, I wanted to be angry at God for taking her away from me. I would go to the little church in our village and sit in the pews and tell God that he was mean and cruel and that I would never forgive him."

Timothy gulped, he knew that feeling well.

"I felt scared and alone and it turned out that the thing that I thought I hated was actually the one constant in my life. I would go, and I'd sit and be mad for a while and then I would help old Maggie with the flowers and if Eric was polishing the altar, I would hold his stool steady. Maggie used to sing while she swept the floor and I would join in, dancing around her."

Timothy liked that image and it reminded him of singing with his mother in the kitchen when she was baking.

"Day by day, the anger lessened, my motivations were less about going to vent and more from the enjoyment that I felt in helping the parishioners maintain the church. It was such a beautiful building and I was drawn to it, and to the community who embodied it. I didn't realise it at the time but bit by bit I was letting go of the anger and the blame. At some point, though I couldn't say when, something must have shifted because my prayers were no longer accusations but appeals for my mother to be looked after and for her to know that I was safe and happy." Shelagh smiled serenely as she reminisced. "Soon enough, I started to attend service and joined the choir. I started my journey in anger, but over time I felt more contentment, an understanding that God is love and that in worshiping Him and following His teachings, I could belong and be a part of something greater than myself."

"So, you knew when you were a little girl that you wanted to be a nun?"

"Goodness no." She laughed. "I knew that when I was older I wanted to help people, I found purpose in helping people, so I trained to be a nurse and a midwife. During my training, I started to feel called to the religious life. I felt that He had given me so much in life at a time when I felt as though I had lost everything, and I wanted to give something back. Through His guidance, I knew that I could do so much more for people, and in doing so I would honour Him."

Timothy thought it all over, "So, you enjoyed being a Nun, even with all the rules?"

"Yes, I felt I was where I belonged. I was able to do a job that I loved, and my faith was entwined in every aspect of my life. And the rules aren't so bad, Timothy, they give structure. Besides, the convent is like a family; contentment was easy to find."

"You must really love my Dad. I mean to leave that behind."

"I do love him very much," she gently traced her finger across her engagement ring, "besides, all is not lost to me, my faith is just as strong, only the way that I practice has changed."

"That's why you wanted to find a church that you like?"

"Yes, I feel that I can connect with God wherever I am, yet I long to be part of a community who worship together… again."

"Oh, wait, why do you have to find somewhere new? You can join the Sisters at Nonnatus!" He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that sooner, it was so obvious.

Shelagh was quiet for a few moments and when she spoke, her words were soft and measured. "Timothy, I left Nonnatus house to start a new life. A life with you and your father and I couldn't be happier with that decision. Part of embracing that new life is finding somewhere new to worship. If I went there to worship, my old life would get muddled with the new."

"I think I understand." He didn't really but he wasn't going to let on.

Shelagh determinedly picked up the map and looked at the scribbles and circles, "I think that we don't need to venture all the way to All Hallows in Bow. I think St. Anne's might be the winner. What do you think, Timothy?"

Timothy frowned, "I suppose that one was fine. We haven't even looked at All Saints though."

"Well, I thought it was a bit too close to home, so to speak." She gently lifted his chin to look at him and he enjoyed the warmth of her touch. "What is it, Timothy?"

"I was just hoping that you would change your mind and pick All Saints. I know you said it was not far enough away, but it would be easy for us to walk to every Sunday and… I like it there." He wanted to sound grown up and give her a well thought out reason, but none came to mind, save the real reason.

"You want to come to church with me?" She asked him, startled.

Timothy noticed that her eyes looked wet and he was convinced she was going to cry, she must have really liked St. Anne's, but he really wanted to go to this one. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "I want my mum."

He was engulfed in her arms as soon as the words left his mouth. He felt safe and warm and couldn't have stopped the tears even if he wanted to. As she gently rubbed his back, and the tears calmed, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Sorry, Shelagh."

"Oh Timothy, never apologise for missing your mother." She soothed.

"It's just, it's not what I meant to say." He sniffed and sat up straighter, "I like that church because I used to go with mum and when I'm there I can imagine that she is too. She used to play the organ and when I go with the Cubs and I hear it, I close my eyes and pretend it's her playing."

"That is lovely, Timothy."

"You don't think that it's silly? To pretend?"

"Absolutely not, if you feel close to her then it's as real as you and I sitting here." She smiled, and put her arm around his shoulders, "After my mother died, after I stopped being mad at God, I used to insist on sitting in the exact place that my mother had at our church. She would sit two rows back on the right-hand side, almost exactly in the middle. I used to tell myself I was keeping it warm for her, though I knew it was silly, it made me feel better and I felt closer to her. If someone else tried to take that spot, I used to insist that they move. I once threw an almighty tantrum."

"You didn't!" He gasped, impressed.

"I was quite a feisty child." Shelagh admitted before quickly changing the subject back, "If you want to come to church with me and All Saints is the church that you like, then that is where we will go."

"But will you be happy there?" Timothy worried.

"I think that I will be happy knowing that you are happy. You have a special connection with that church and that alone should put it straight to the top of our list."

Timothy felt butterflies in his tummy, he liked church when he went with the Cubs, especially the music and now he could go with Shelagh and feel close to his mum too. As soon as Shelagh had explained the quest, he'd secretly hoped that she would like All Saints. He smiled but he could feel his cheeks burning red, "Perhaps I should have said so at the picnic, we wouldn't have had to travel around half of the east-end."

"I don't know about you, but I like a bit of an adventure every now and then, and I have learnt a few things about map reading, thanks to you."

* * *

Timothy climbed into bed and snuggled under the sheets, his eyes were starting to feel heavy, but he wanted to wait for his father to come and tuck him in. He didn't have to wait long before Patrick burst in, making the sleepy boy jump. Timothy felt like his Dad did everything with more gusto since Shelagh had come back to Poplar.

"Sounds like you had a fun day with Shelagh, son." Patrick sat on the edge of the bed and ruffled Timothy's hair.

"It was the best, you should have seen the picnic!"

Patrick made a show of looking around the room in confusion, he even lifted the sheets to have a look.

"Dad, Dad, stop, my feet are getting cold."

Patrick made a show of looking hurt, "I can't believe my own son went on a picnic and didn't save anything for me!"

Timothy giggled, "We even had jam tarts!"

Patrick held his hand over his heart, wounded, "How could you?"

"Very easily!" Tim replied laughing before sobering as he remembered why he wanted to wait up for his Dad, "I cried about Mummy today."

Patrick stooped his shoulders to be eye-level with Timothy and gently moved a lock of hair out of his son's eyes. "When you were with Shelagh?"

"Yes, she made me feel better and I want to go to church with her because I think she needs a friend to go with. I don't like to think that she would be by herself." Before his father could respond, Timothy rushed, "And it was Mummy's church and when I go there it makes me feel happy."

"Well then, that's a brilliant idea." Patrick enthused.

"You don't mind? But you don't like church." Timothy accused him.

Patrick laughed, and Timothy couldn't understand why it was funny. "Tim, I'm a cynical old man, but your mother and Shelagh? They're both exceptionally special people so if you want to follow in their footsteps and if it makes you happy, then I think it's great." Patrick leant forward and kissed his son on the head, as he stood to leave, he added with a wink, "Besides, if you go with Shelagh then I don't have to take you."

Timothy just smiled, slyly, "I bet Shelagh could convince you to go to church."

Patrick sighed and admitted defeat, "I'd go with her every day if she asked me to," he paused, "I'd go every day if you asked me to as well. Timothy, you know you can come to me with anything at all, even if you think I'm not going to like it."

Timothy nodded in understanding and then grinned, "Don't be mushy, Dad!"

"Night, son."

"Night, Dad."


	8. Chapter 8

Patrick tapped his pen on his desk, almost in perfect time with the clock, but he didn't notice, his thoughts were too consumed. He'd endured a horrific couple of days, one crisis after another at the surgery, twinned with being called to assist with several difficult births and then an unexpected death this morning. Those never got easier.

And, to top it all off, he had barely had chance to spend any quality time with Shelagh and it was making his cranky.

The surgery was closed for lunch and so Patrick's heart soared when he heard footsteps approaching, it plummeted again seconds later as he realised the steps were too heavy to be Shelagh. He went back to tapping his pen.

Sister Evangelina burst through the office door that had stood ajar, "Doctor."

He jumped slightly at the abruptness of her entrance. "You could have knocked, I might have had a patient in here."

"The surgery is closed." She countered, then raised an eyebrow that disappeared under the ridge of her wimple, "But you are right, I shall knock next time… wouldn't want to walk in to any lunchtime trysts."

Patrick sighed, knowing full well that rising to her would only spur her on. "What can I help you with, Sister?"

"Denise Fisher. Nasty bit of edema on both ankles. Didn't take a blind bit of notice to any practical suggestions and wants some magic pills."

"I was going to see her husband this afternoon, I could combine the visit."

"Good, I hope you have more luck than I did," she brushed down the sleeve of her coat, "but then it would seem that you are quite the ladies' man now, I'm sure you can use your charm to persuade her."

He sighed, "Sister, I-"

"I'm also here for Ms. Weathers notes, if you would be so kind."

He passed her the patient's file, a new face had popped up at the clinic, heavily pregnant with a plethora of health complaints. "I've just gone through them myself, luckily her previous GP was very thorough."

"The sooner we get a handle on this one, the better." She grumbled in her customary gruff tone.

As Sister Evangelina read through the notes, Patrick once again heard footsteps and looked at his watch, his secretary was a little earlier back from her break than usual, but he wasn't going to complain. When he caught sight of Shelagh through the door he decided he definitely wasn't going to complain. That was until his eyes swept back to the Nun still appraising the patient's file. He tried to give her a signal to wait, after the Sister's not so subtle jibe moments before, he didn't want her saying anything to upset Shelagh.

He let out a sigh of relief as Shelagh appeared to understand that something was amiss and turned to retreat.

"Don't hurry off, _Miss Mannion_ , we've no secrets here," Sister Evangelina pulled the door open fully and added under her breath, "not anymore at least."

"Hello, Sister Evangelina." Shelagh spoke carefully.

"It would seem that congratulations are in order." Each word seemed to cause her discomfort, but she finished the sentiment with a passable smile.

"Thank you, Sister. You obviously have work to attend to with Dr. Turner, I didn't mean to interrupt," she looked at Patrick, "I will come back later."

"Nonsense, you're here now; no-one has been able to catch hide nor hair of you since you returned to Poplar. It's as though you have been avoiding us."

"I've had a few things to take care of."

Sister Evangelina looked emphatically at Patrick, "Is that what you're calling it."

Patrick felt powerless watching the exchange, he wanted to protect Shelagh from any discomfort but had to admit that it would be par for the course for a little while, at least. He moved around the desk to stand by her side. "Did Timothy get to school alright this morning?" Patrick interrupted, valiantly trying to change the subject to something more neutral. He didn't know where their conversation would end up, but he didn't think it would be anywhere good. In a few moments time and with the benefit of hindsight, he would realise what a mistake he had just made.

Shelagh paled, her face white as a sheet and Sister Evangelina's eyes bulged inexplicably.

A tense silence descended for a few seconds, while Patrick tried to figure out what the hell was going on, then Sister Evangelina burst forward, finger aimed murderously at his chest as though she wished it were a weapon, "You better not be suggesting-"

Shelagh stepped in front of him, "He _isn't_ suggesting anything of the sort"

The Nun retracted her aimed finger, instead placing her hands on her hips, and huffed, "Well it certainly sounds that way!"

"Quite frankly, Sister, I thought you knew me better than that." Shelagh's voice was quiet but there was an edge to it that Patrick had seldom heard.

"Well I thought I knew you better too. Turns out that I didn't know a damn thing." Sister Evangelina's voice was a stark contrast to the former nun's, it seemed to rise in volume, word by word.

Patrick's eyes darted between the two women and then, finally, the penny dropped, "Oh God, no! I rang Shelagh early this morning because I was called out and Mrs. Penny couldn't…" He trailed off when he realised that neither woman was paying him the slightest concern.

Sister Evangelina breathed heavily for a few moments, before reaching some decision and softening her voice, "You didn't say anything. Not once. You could have come to us."

"And said what?" Shelagh challenged, "That I had fallen in love? That my heart was braking everyday at the thought of having to choose between my vocation and my love for a man?"

"It shouldn't have taken a potentially fatal disease for you to say anything!"

"It took me almost dying because I didn't take my vows lightly, Sister. You may like to think that I have easily cast them aside on a whim, but that could not be further from the truth." Shelagh's voice cracked, nevertheless she carried on, "I didn't want to fall in love, I didn't go looking for it-" Sister Evangelina opened her mouth but Shelagh preempted her, " _nor_ was I coerced in any way. It just happened and it's beautiful and I am certain this is the right path for me but that doesn't mean it was an easy decision to face."

There was a big sigh. "I've never known you to do anything on a whim."

"No." Shelagh agreed with a small smile.

Sister Evangelina's face softened, the hard lines of distrust now tempered, "You believe this is God's plan for you?"

"I do."

The nun nodded slowly, musing, "And are you happy?"

Shelagh nodded, eyes watery. "Yes."

"Then that's good enough for me." She smiled, briefly before schooling her face into a mask of practiced irritation, " _And_ it will be good enough for everyone else at Nonnatus too, don't think it hasn't escaped our attention that you have yet to reply to Nurse Noakes' invitation." The Sister's eyes then moved to Patrick and he braced himself, "Turner." she barked, "Denise Fisher, don't forget."

And then she was gone, and Patrick was left stunned.

Shelagh covered her face with her hands for a moment, then took a deep, calming breath. "Why Patrick? Why on earth would you imply that I had spent the night with you?"

"I was trying to help." He winced, "I didn't realise how it would sound."

Shelagh took pity on him and placed a hand on his cheek and caressed it gently with her thumb. "I appreciate you trying to help and at least a little bit of the air is cleared now."

He took the hand that stroked his cheek and kissed it delicately, "You're amazing, you know that. You handled that so well, despite me placing my large feet inside my even larger mouth."

Shelagh took his hand from her cheek and kissed the palm. "I have lived with that woman for the last ten years, Patrick. I know her well and know that how upset she gets is usually a good indicator of how much she cares."

"Well, thank you for stepping in front of me, for a second I thought she was going to go straight for my jugular. I'm man enough to admit that I was terrified." Shelagh laughed, and he delighted in the sound. Then something that Sister Evangelina had said came back to him, "What invitation was she talking about?" He asked, curious.

Shelagh frowned, the laughter disappeared in an instant and she instead radiated discomfort, Patrick could feel the change in her, it was almost tangible. She barely moved but it was as though she had curled in on herself. Patrick hated seeing her internal struggle play out on her face, the worry and fear. He longed to ease it. "Sweetheart, what is it?"

Her eyes snapped to his and then she surprised him again by smiling shyly, "Sweetheart?"

Now it was his turn to look uncomfortable, "Ah, it just slipped out. Do you mind?"

"I think I quite like it coming from your lips." There was that little shy smile again, Patrick was convinced that it would be undoing. "The invitation is for little Freddie's Christening. I saw Chummy at Church on Sunday and she invited me, well us, to attend."

"Timothy didn't mention it."

"He was collecting our coats at the time."

"You don't want to go?"

"I don't really know how I could? How do I walk back into that building as someone else? They'll all have questions and I don't know if I'll be able to answer them."

He gently took her hand and led her over to his chair, sitting her down before kneeling in front of her, "What are you afraid they'll ask?"

She didn't look at him, instead worrying a piece of loose thread on her coat. Patrick was struck by how tiny and vulnerable she looked engulfed in his large chair. She was so precious to him and he longed to spirit her away somewhere new. Somewhere were they could start a fresh, just the three of them. There would be no awkward questions, no sideways glances or hushed conversations. But then, their lives were here, his practice and Timothy's school and friends. Uprooting might seem a romantic notion but more than anything, Patrick was sure that her Nonnatus family would love Shelagh just as much as they had Sister Bernadette. "Shelagh?"

She looked up, brow furrowed, "I'm afraid they'll ask why they weren't enough."

* * *

Shelagh had been uncertain, yet Patrick had managed to reassure her that it would be a nice event and that himself and Timothy would be there the whole time. Excuses could be made if she felt it was too much. She'd admitted to him that she had been hoping for baby steps, much like the meeting with Sister Evangelina. Meeting her old friends and work colleagues one by one seemed less daunting a task than seeing them all together. Patrick knew Shelagh enough to know that despite her own misgivings, she would want to be there to celebrate with Nurse Noakes, especially given the traumatic birth that Chummy had suffered to bring her little boy into the world.

They had decided to walk instead of taking the car and Patrick had promised that they would call at her lodgings in plenty of time so as to allow a leisurely walk to the chapel, give her time to compose herself. As Timothy ran ahead to knock on the door, Patrick steeled himself for another run in with Mrs. Douglas. She was a nice enough lady and he couldn't fault her kindness, she thought the world of Shelagh and told him repeatedly. She was just a bit too familiar with him, on occasion. Last time he had walked Shelagh to the doorstep he had somehow walked away with more of Mrs. Douglas' lipstick on his cheek than Shelagh's.

The door flew open immediately and Timothy was the first casualty.

"Well if it isn't my Turner boys!" Mrs. Douglas crowed enthusiastically as she crushed Timothy in an overzealous hug.

Patrick had the overwhelming urge to insist that they were actually _Shelagh's_ 'Turner boys', but then he realised he wasn't twelve and this wasn't a playground. He instead politely smiled and placed his hands on Timothy's shoulders, using his son as a shield from any unwanted advances.

"Is Shelagh ready?" He asked, hopeful.

"Aren't you impatient, Doctor?" She clutched at her chest dramatically and muttered to herself, "Such a romantic soul, pining away."

Patrick and Timothy shared a look of bewilderment. Then, footsteps could be heard, and Patrick held his breath.

"Hello Patrick, Timothy." Shelagh's soft voice was a welcome relief and both Turners' perked up immediately.

Timothy, having endured as much as he could stand took matters into his own hands, "Let's go, come on!" He grabbed Shelagh's sleeve and started pulling her down the street, despite her gasp of,

"Oh, goodness, Timothy slow down."

Patrick, to his dismay, was left to bid Mrs. Douglas goodbye and unfortunately didn't escape without a lipstick smudge. His long legs allowed him to catch up to Shelagh and Timothy quickly and when he did, he grumbled, "Well thanks for leaving me to fend for myself, Tim!"

"Don't think I didn't notice you using Timothy as a human shield." Shelagh defended as Timothy haughtily grinned at his father.

"It's good for the boy, character building." Patrick's retort earned and eye-roll from Timothy who decided to run on ahead.

"Character building, my foot." Shelagh decided as she pulled a handkerchief from her purse and gently wiped away the lipstick. "Don't want anyone thinking that's mine." She said solemnly.

"I'd rather they _did_ think it was yours!"

Every day they became a little bit closer. Patrick hadn't thought he could love her more than he did when he saw her standing in the mist, but his expectation was being thoroughly surpassed and now he was sure it could only increase exponentially with every new little discovery. They had settled into a routine in the evenings when Timothy was safely tucked up in bed. They would sit together on the sofa, Shelagh nestled underneath Patrick's arm and they would chat about everything and nothing. Sometimes they would put a record on and just cuddle, other times a kiss or two may be exchanged. With each passing day, Shelagh grew more comfortable in her own skin and more confident with Patrick; he found it incredible to witness. Though Shelagh had made strides within the safety of his flat, he could tell by her expression that his comment had made her uncomfortable and he realised belatedly that jokes, however mild, about physical intimacy would not be helpful as she walked back in to the convent and faced her former Sisters, her former life.

He patted her shoulder awkwardly, not wanting to make her anymore uncomfortable in public, "I mean, we can't have Sister Evangelina thinking that I'm any more reprehensible than she already does!"

His quip worked, and she graced him with a small smile, "No, we can't have that."

"You look beautiful, by the way. You were wearing that outfit the day we got engaged."

This time her smile was full, and her eyes lit up, "I realised this morning when I dressed, and I can't explain why but I decided that being wrapped up in the memory would give me courage today. It's silly, I know."

He ached to hold her hand, comfort her in the best way he knew how, instead he settled for words, hoping they were enough, "You have more courage than you know, Shelagh. Choosing a life with me," he looked up the path towards Timothy, "with _us,_ that must have taken incredible courage."

"I don't think there was a choice in the end, not really. After I sat down and read your letters and knew that we were on the same page, it could only be you, Patrick."

He gazed at her, hoping he could convey all the love that he would rather be communicating against her lips. As they resumed walking, Patrick mulled over her words and was suddenly struck by how she had phrased the last part.

"Shelagh, when you say you sat down and read the letters, do you mean to say that you read them all at once?"

"Yes." He heard amusement in her tone, but he was completely baffled, which only intensified when she chuckled and added, "It earned me quite the reputation at the sanatorium."

He stopped walking again and Shelagh carried on for a few steps before missing his presence, "Patrick?"

"I don't understand, I thought you weren't… I mean, I knew you were replying to the Nonnatuns' and Tim but…" He trailed off, unsure of what he wanted to say but knowing that he needed some sort of explanation. He wasn't mad or upset, her agreeing to marry him made all of the uncertainty worthwhile, he just needed to understand.

She slowly walked back to him and stopped a breath away from him, so close that they were almost touching, and Patrick wondered if she would mind him closing the distance or whether she would do so herself. She surprised him by carefully adjusting his tie and flattening it to chest, and then rested her hand over his heart.

Her words came out a soft whisper, "I had to be sure of myself, Patrick. I had to be sure of my faith and of my love for you. I wanted to read them as a woman who was free to act on whatever they contained."

"When I sent them, I kept promising myself it would be the last but then I'd find myself in the exact same position. Stopping felt like admitting defeat and I couldn't let you go without knowing for sure." His voice was low and matched hers, keeping their admissions trapped in the slither of space between their bodies.

"I'm glad you didn't give up on me."

Patrick couldn't stop himself from gently trailing his thumb across her cheek, "I don't think I could have even if I tried."

They spent a moment lost in each other before,

"Ahem."

Shelagh and Patrick sprung apart, turning to the sound as they did so.

"What is it Tim?" Patrick asked, trying and failing not to sound flustered.

"I think we are going to be late. You both keep stopping to talk but if you talked while you are walking we might get there on time."

"A splendid idea, Timothy." Shelagh enthused, feigning composure, while Patrick rolled his eyes at his son.

As they set off walking again, Shelagh took hold of Patrick's hand and threaded her fingers through each of his. He squeezed her hand in reassurance and found himself full of pride, another step forward. He just hoped that this afternoon wouldn't lead to two steps back. As they approached Nonnatus House, Shelagh let go of Patrick's hand and nervously fiddled with her skirt, smoothing it down and swiping at imaginary dirt. He touched her shoulder and she jumped, "Are you ready, Sweetheart?"

Shelagh smiled and then a look of determination crossed her face and she nodded. "Ready."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Her heart was thumping as she waited for the door to open. It felt like forever though she couldn't trust her judgement, anxious as she was.

"Should we just go in?" Patrick asked, looking to her for guidance.

Her mouth had gone so dry that only a croak would have escaped should she try to speak, instead she just shook her head. As she heard approaching footsteps echoing off the old familiar tiles she decided that this had been a mistake and she wanted to go home. That was problematic in itself because she didn't really have a home, not anymore. Nonnatus had been her home for such a long time and here she was, dreading stepping over the threshold. Her lodgings were perfectly nice, but it didn't feel like a home and while Patrick's flat already felt like somewhere that she could call home, she always had to leave at the end of the day, and the impermanence eroded the sentiment.

Shelagh took a deep breath, willing herself to calm when Patrick lent close to her and whispered in her ear, "You can do this, Shelagh. I'll be with you the whole time."

She nodded gratefully and then the door swung open and she tensed up again.

"Well aren't you just a sight for sore eyes, eh?" Fred Buckle beamed at her and she couldn't help smiling back a little. He was dressed in his bet suit and smiling ear to ear.

"Hello, Mr. Buckle."

"Mr. Buckle? It's Fred to you, always has been, always will be." He reached out and shook Patrick's hand and then made a show of shaking Timothy's too. "Now, hows' about you three come and meet my newest pride and joy?"

"How's Dolly getting on?" Patrick asked walking into the building first, Timothy close behind.

Shelagh remained rooted to the spot, willing herself to move forward but not gaining ground. She closed her eyes and prayed for strength. The familiarity of it calmed her, she straightened her jacket one last time and stepped over the threshold.

* * *

She had encountered a few awkward 'hellos' and suffered several long silences that refused to be filled but so far everything was going well. There had been no probing questions and whispers, just a sense of unease, as though no one quite knew how to approach her now. And really, she could fully understand how they felt as she wasn't sure how to approach any of them now either.

They'd all been ushered into the chapel not long after their arrival and the Christenings of little Samantha Smart and Freddie Noakes had been lovely. There was so much joy and anticipation for the future surrounding everyone. Shelagh who had once sat in this very chapel feeling at once caged in while ostensibly lost at sea, incongruent as that was, now let her mind wander to the possibility of being in the same scenario with Patrick one day, a baby of their own cradled in her arms. Would the same people be in attendance?

As everyone filed out of the chapel, ready to enjoy the feast the Nonnatuns had laid out, Patrick leant close to her ear and whispered, "You were smiling the whole time, Shelagh."

"It's just nice to see everyone happy and when I think about how close Chummy came to…" She trailed off shaking the thought from her head.

"Well I'm just happy to see you happy. Are you glad we came?"

"So far so good," She replied, though she was sure that the next part of the celebration would definitely be harder as one couldn't avoid socialising at a party. She gave it a good go though, first sticking to Patrick like glue and then when Fred dragged him away to look at goodness-knows-what scheme he had going, she stuck to Timothy who appeared more than happy to pass the time with her.

Together they played a rousing game of I-spy in which Shelagh repeatedly triumphed, much to Timothy's chagrin.

"You _are_ cheating! You couldn't possibly answer that quickly otherwise."

"I most certainly am not. The only way I could possibly cheat is if I could read your mind."

Timothy just looked at her, eyes wide.

"No, Timothy, I cannot read your mind, nor anyone else's for that matter." Fleetingly she considered how handy such a gift would be, it would certainly take the anxiety away if she could just gage what people were thinking. The desire quickly floated away as she considered the possibility of uncomplimentary thoughts.

Timothy appeared disappointed for a second before declaring, "Fine, but cover your eyes while I say my I-spy, so I know you're definitely not cheating."

Shelagh sighed and did as he asked, and then when she correctly guessed that he had spied a crocheted ladybird perched on the back of the sofa, he threw his hands up in the air, "Right, we are playing a different game and I'm going to tell Dad not to try competing with you at I-spy, he's a sore loser."

Shelagh filed that piece of information away and smiled to herself at the idea of her and Patrick playing children's games together. Maybe in the future, with a bigger brood of Turners. "What game would you like to play instead?"

"Oh, let's play hide and seek! You couldn't possibly beat me at hide and seek, I'm the best at Cubs!" Timothy enthused and jumped up. "I'm small so I can easily fit into tight spaces."

"We can't play hide and seek at a party, Timothy. What if I can't find you before it's time to go and you end up stuck in a cupboard or underneath Sister Evangelina's bed all night?"

Shelagh had made the joke to soften the rejection of his proposal, but she hadn't expected him to laugh so loudly or to draw the attention of the nurses who had been blissfully cooing at the babies.

"Besides, I have an unfair advantage in that game too." She said distractedly trying to avoid catching any of the nurses' eyes.

Timothy frowned in concentration and Shelagh found he looked adorably like his father, and then his face was a picture of triumph as he gasped, "You used to live here! That's why you were so good at I-spy!"

Shelagh did not divulge that she had once passed an evening in that very room indulging Sister Monica Joan in a game of I-spy, which had been really quite fun until the older Sister started spying things on another plane of existence.

Seeing that there were less people around the food, she stood up, "Come on, lets get something to eat before all the best bits get eaten up." They made up a plate of food each and sat to one side, talking first about their favourite biscuits and then why some foods tasted better pickled than others. They both agreed that pickled onions were divine but pickled eggs were certainly not.

"Shelagh, why are you sitting with me and not talking to your friends? You don't need to babysit me, Dad always leaves me to my own devices." Tim's smile was cheeky, "I hardly ever cause any mischief."

"Oh." He had certainly caught her off guard, and she struggled to think of a reason, "Well you're my friend too, Timothy." She laughed but she knew it sounded strained.

Timothy frowned, "I don't want you to think that I don't want to talk to you, it's just everyone keeps looking at us and I think they might like to talk to you too. You've spent so much time with me and Dad since you became Shelagh, your friends must miss you."

It was such a sweet sentiment and no less than she would expect from Timothy, but Shelagh couldn't bare to make eye contact with anyone else in the room, not that she could explain why to him. As she was carefully considering how to reply, the absolute worst happened.

"Timothy, come and help me with this cake, would you?" Sister Evangelina's voice boomed and the young boy jumped up immediately, clearly not daft enough to disobey the formidable Nun.

Shelagh quickly stood, frantically searching for Patrick but he was nowhere to be seen. Alone, she felt panic setting in and looked for the quickest exit free from people, her discomfort didn't lessen as a warm hand gently landed on her shoulder.

"Shelagh." The voice was warm and soothing and so familiar to her that for a moment she was transported back, if not for the fact the speaker hadn't said Sister Bernadette, she would have thought this place still home.

She turned to face her past. "Hello, Sister Julienne."

"I fear that you are afraid to speak to me, Shelagh." The Sister's eyes held no judgement, only concern. "I fear you are afraid to speak to anyone save Dr. Turner and dear Timothy."

She started to shake her head in denial, but really it was an astute observation. "I don't know what to say." Shelagh admitted, her voice a whisper.

Sister Julienne smiled, "I heard that you had a few words for Sister Evangelina."

Shelagh forced a smile, "Well, she didn't leave much me choice in the matter."

"Ah, yes, that does sound very much like her." Sister Julienne guided Shelagh over to a seat and looked around, ensuring their privacy, "May I ask you something?"

Alarm bells started ringing. "You can ask me anything, Sister, that hasn't changed. Only I worry that I won't be able to answer you."

The Sister nodded, "And you must only answer if you feel comfortable."

That _wasn't_ much comfort to Shelagh as everything about this situation made her feel uncomfortable. When she renounced her vows, she didn't mention Patrick. It hadn't been a calculated decision or deceit; she hadn't felt that it was the time, or the place. The decision was hers alone and that was how she presented it.

She tried to keep the worry from her face but what if Sister Julienne intended to ask her why she hadn't confided in her, as Sister Evangelina had done? A downpour of potential questions started to flood her mind; what if she asked how long she had loved Patrick? What if she inquired as to whether they had been intimate? Shelagh wouldn't have thought such a notion would have crossed anyone's mind yet Sister Evangelina had been quick to believe the worst. Every scenario was worse than the last and as Sister Julienne started to speak, Shelagh held her breath.

"I have been asking myself if there was a moment, a defining moment where I should have noticed something, and I was blind to your plight. You came to me for help and…" She sighed, "If only I had realised, maybe I could have saved you-"

"From what?" Shelagh interrupted, surprising herself as much as Sister Julienne. "From Patrick?"

"No, my dear," she took hold of Shelagh's hand, "saved you from your torment."

A soft "Oh." Was all Shelagh could manage.

"I don't disprove, Shelagh. On the contrary, Dr. Turner is a good man and he loves you very much, that is clear."

Relief filled Shelagh but also a touch of incredulity, it was kind of Sister Julienne to assess Patrick's love for her and not find it lacking, though as this was their first appearance as an engaged couple, it felt like a hollow gesture. Still, it was better than the alternative. "Thank you, Sister."

"When he came to me with his intention to ask for your hand in marriage, I felt only relief that you would not face your new path alone; that you would have his love and his counsel. And I felt joy, Shelagh, so much joy for you both."

It was a peculiar feeling, Shelagh decided, the mix of her own relief and joy at the Sister's words, muddled with such confusion. When had Patrick spoken to Sister Julienne and why? And why not divulge this information to her? Since her return they had quickly forged their own routines, they couldn't really court like most new couples would and so they had carved a unique existence where the roles of 'wife and mother', 'husband', and 'son' were rehearsed, tried on for size before they stepped out on to the stage. The residents of Poplar could be the harshest of critics, yet Shelagh felt that the bond her and Patrick were forging would shore up her resilience. They had gained so much ground together and everyday felt like a blessing but as she contemplated the Sister's words, she realised how fragile their relationship still was. She decided to put that thought to the back of her mind for now.

"I don't believe that everything could have been resolved with the same outcome any other way, Sister. I have thought on it myself and my path, including the pain and uncertainty was mine to bear and the choices mine to make." Shelagh swallowed thickly, "Would you excuse me?" She asked but stood before waiting for an answer.

She walked into the hallway, no destination in mind, just a desire for space. Heading in the direction of the clinical room, she started thinking back to the last time she had downed tools, setting up for the next delivery. When had that been? She had a sudden desire to go in there, to take comfort in the familiar scent of disinfectant and hear the whir of the autoclave. As she neared the corner, instead of the autoclave, she heard voices.

"It certainly makes you wonder, doesn't it?" Trixie's voice was jovial, "I mean this clearly isn't something that has blossomed since she came back…"

Jenny chimed in, "Surely you can not be suggesting that anything was happening?"

Trixie gasped. "Of course not! I am absolutely sure that one of us would have noticed something if that was the case. I'm just wondering if either of you are harboring a secret love… for Fred perhaps?"

Incredulous giggles erupted, and Shelagh turned to leave. She wasn't upset, she knew well enough that the young nurses were fond of a gossip, she just would rather not be privy to a conversation about herself. Jenny's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"I was watching them together earlier, they seemed so contented." She paused and then added, "I don't think I ever noticed how attractive he is. For an older man, that is."

"Well of course, it's obvious now because he's happy!" Trixie stated, confidently. "A man in love exudes appeal, which can be rather frustrating if you're not the object of their desires."

They all laughed again, and Shelagh smiled to herself. It felt surreal that they were talking about her and Patrick with awe.

"It's really rather lovely when you think that two people can see something in one another that no-one else can until they bring it to the surface." Cynthia added wistfully.

"Well I think Dr. Turner is to be commended, seeing through a Habit and Wimple is quite beyond most men. I always thought she was far too stunning to be hidden under all that wool!" Trixie announced.

Shelagh frowned, it was certainly baffling to be discussed in such a way but also a little thrilling. Ordinarily she would have chastised herself for vanity, but she let herself indulge. After all, it wasn't her opinion.

Cynthia's words were gentle but reproachful. "Trixie, you know a Nun's calling is beyond vanity and knowing Sister Bernadette and Dr. Turner, I can't imagine that their love is based purely on physical attraction."

"I agree." Jenny chimed in, and Shelagh could imagine Trixie pulling a face at them both.

"I'm not disagreeing with you. On the contrary, I think that they are two sides of the same coin really. It just can't hurt that they are both rather easy on the eye!"

"Oh, they will have the most beautiful babies!" Jenny exclaimed, "Just imagine her blue eyes and his dark hair."

Shelagh felt her cheeks redden. Her mind had traveled the same route that Trixie's evidently had.

"Well, I imagine we won't have to wait long to find out. It's a love story fit for the big screen and forbidden love always comes with a healthy side of _sexual tension_." Trixie practically purred the last few words and before Shelagh could process her own thoughts, she heard a clatter of metal and Trixie's exclamation of, "Oh!"

Shelagh thought she had been discovered but, unfortunately for Trixie, it was the younger nurse that had been discovered.

" _Oh_ indeed, Nurse Franklin!" Sister Evangelina barked, seemingly having entered the clinical room from the other side. "It doesn't take brains to guess who you are talking about and I'd thank you to have some respect."

"I meant no harm, Sister." Trixie's tone was challenging.

"I'm sure you didn't but did you stop to think how Shelagh would feel if she heard you talking about her in such a sordid way?"

Shelagh gasped.

This was one of those occasions where Trixie just didn't know when to stop. "It's hardly sordid. They're going to be married, surely you don't think they are going to sleep in separate rooms after sharing a cup of Horlicks and doing a crossword puzzle. They're not in their eighties!"

"Stop Trixie." Jenny implored gently.

Shelagh couldn't listen to any more, she turned and fled. Silently chastising herself for eavesdropping, nothing good ever came from it and now she had heard too much. She'd found it thrilling to listen at first, to be envied and spoken of with excitement and curiosity. It was the opposite of what she had imagined they might have to face and even Trixie's comment about sexual tension hadn't phased her. To her, it spoke of the intimacy that was ever developing between her and Patrick, but the way Sister Evangelina had spat the word 'sordid' made her feel dirty, as though she should be above such desires.

She felt a tear slip down her cheek. Had she not retreated so quickly, she would have heard Sister Evangelina correct Trixie in her meaning, that it was sordid not to allow them their privacy and to speculate on their relationship. As it was, she found herself making her way upstairs to her old room. Pushing the door open she was startled to find it occupied.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She turned to leave.

"Oh goodness, Shelagh, please come in and join us." Chummy was nursing young Freddie, with Jane sitting next to her gently stroking the baby's downy hair.

Shelagh sat down on the chair by the bed and was grateful when neither woman mentioned her teary eyes.

"Jane and I were just getting to know each other a little better. It would seem that God works in mysterious ways yet again."

At Shelagh's confused look, Jane explained, "It was Chummy that recommended Reverend Applebee-Thornton stay with us and well…"

Shelagh smiled, genuinely, "Of course, is he well?"

Jane blushed, "Yes. He writes regularly."

Chummy gasped, "Goodness, his letters must be novella length!"

Jane smiled easily, "He is surprisingly succinct in his letters." She paused, "Trixie and Jenny think it's unusual, but I like it."

"It takes great care and attention to put one's emotions into a letter, Jane. Unlike a conversation you can re-write it over and over again until it's perfect. Treasure those letters until next you meet." Chummy adjusted her feeding son. "And you'll probably find that Jenny and Trixie have a touch of the green-eyed monster if they aren't receiving the attentions of a man."

Shelagh thought of Patrick's letters and felt a little calmer. When she looked up, Chummy was watching her intently.

"Oh, goodness, look at me staring! It's just you look so well, you'd never know that you'd had bally tuberculosis or that-" She stop abruptly.

"That I was a nun?" She finished with a small smile.

Chummy smiled broadly, "Yes, that." Then her smile dropped, and she added, "When I invited you, it didn't occur to me that it might be uncomfortable for you. I was just so excited to see you and excited about young Sir here."

"I'm quite alright." She wasn't but it was instinctual to put on a brave face.

"Only, you came in here looking frightfully sad and your old room is really the perfect hiding spot." Chummy's words were softly spoken and held no accusation, only concern.

Shelagh sighed, "It is a little overwhelming."

Freddie, full from his dinner let out a little gurgle. Chummy expertly burped him and rearranged her blouse. "Shelagh, come and meet Freddie properly."

Shelagh and Jane traded places and feeling restricted, Shelagh removed her jacket leaving her in a delicate, cream coloured blouse. She accepted the baby into her arms and smiled down at him, "Chummy, he is perfect."

"I rather think so, too." The new mother agreed.

Somehow, though she hadn't planned it, she found the confidence to ask, "Chummy, did you find it difficult, adjusting to married life?"

Chummy smiled, "Oh gosh, that rather depends on what aspects of marriage you are referring to."

"I don't know. I just," she took a shuddering breath, "being here, it's reminding me of who I was and I'm starting to doubt whether I can reconcile that person with who I need to become."

"Shelagh are you having second thoughts about marrying Dr. Turner?" Chummy asked carefully.

"No." She said immediately and knew in her heart that she was certain of that.

"You don't need to become someone else." Jane's voice was quiet but sure, "You just adapt who you are now to new routines, new experiences."

"Well said, everything will fall into place." Chummy agreed. "I must say, you look so at ease with Doctor and Timothy already."

Shelagh smiled but a lone tear still escaped, "They've made it so easy for me."

"It's everyone else you feel uncomfortable around." Chummy surmised.

Shelagh nodded, and more tears escaped, she hated feeling out of control. "I feel like I'm walking on eggshells around everyone, though the Sisters are being kind, it feels uncomfortable and Sister Monica Joan looks at me as though she doesn't know who I am." She sighed, "Maybe, I'm being greedy, wanting both. It was me that left…"

Chummy clasped her hand over Shelagh's. "This will all fall into place too, I am sure of it. But for now, focus on your family and revel in the joys they bring. Once you are more settled, you can find your feet here again. It's bound to be overwhelming for you, focus on one thing at a time."

"Thank you, Chummy."

"Anytime. If you want to talk about anything, I'm always available. It's quite thrilling to be able to give marriage advice." Chummy gasped suddenly, and Shelagh was glad she was holding little Freddie securely, "Oh, we absolutely have to have you and Dr. Turner around for dinner in the new year. It's what married couples do, I read so in Woman's Own and I've no reason to doubt them."

Shelagh laughed and wiped her cheeks dry.

"I am getting better at cooking, too. I absolutely refuse to let this one grow-up on burnt pie crusts and lumpy potatoes."

Shelagh was about to console Chummy about her lack of cooking skills when the door opened, and Jane came back in, followed by a concerned looking Patrick. Shelagh hadn't even notice Jane slip out.

"Is everything alright?" Shelagh asked, concerned.

Patrick smiled ruefully, "I was going to say the same thing."

Chummy stood up, "Well, I haven't had chance to sample the cake, yet. I must get some before Sister Monica Joan snaffles the lot." She followed Jane to the door.

"What about Freddie?" Shelagh made to stand up and hand him back to his mother.

"He looks perfectly content with you, and I daresay he'll be the perfect chaperone should anyone amble by."

With that, the door closed quietly leaving Shelagh and Patrick in her old bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

While Shelagh had been enjoying I-spy, enduring gossip and evading former Sisters, Patrick had been lightly treading the minefield that was Fred's grand schemes. Patrick admired Fred, he was a good man, genuine and hardworking, and always willing to lend a hand. And more often than not, on the right side of the law. However, at this moment in time, he was cursing the man for pulling him in to the kitchen and away from Shelagh. She'd been so nervous and while he knew that she was strong and likely didn't need him hovering over her, he'd like to at least have eyes on her. Just in case.

"See, thing is Doc', kiddies don't like eatin' their greens and so I got to thinking, how could they be made better?"

Was this a rhetorical question or was Fred expecting a suggestion? "Seasoning, maybe?"

"Of a sorts. Chocolate!" Fred was grinning from ear to ear. "Easy, take a sprout, dip it in chocolate and then feed it to the lil' sprouts. All they taste is the sweet goodness of Cadbury's… or a _cheaper_ alternative, and they'll be non the wiser to the nutritious center."

Patrick winced, quickly realising that Fred wasn't in fact joking. "Well, it's an interesting premise but I think it would perhaps introduce a bit too much sugar into their diets."

"Ah, I suppose you're right." He looked hopefully at the doctor, "And the benefits of the vegetables definitely don't outweigh that?"

Patrick made out as if he was mulling it over, "No, I think in this instance, the chocolate will create more problems."

"Well that's a rotten shame, Doc. I was hoping that you would be able to recommend my product to mothers with young children at the surgery. Having a Doctor's approval would add credibility, see. Perhaps, I need to go back to the drawing board."

Just as Patrick was going to offer his commiserations to Fred, Peter's voice cut in, "You're not scheming are you, Fred?"

Fred smiled brilliantly and clapped the police officer on the shoulder, "Just discussing matters of culinary expertise."

"Really?" Peter asked skeptically.

Patrick just nodded, mind elsewhere.

Peter smiled, "Camilla has been studying some of my mother's old recipe books. She's," he paused, wincing, "getting there."

Zoning out, Patrick wondered if he could politely leave now. Was Timothy still with Shelagh? He imagined that Tim wouldn't want to spend time with anyone else, he couldn't believe how lucky he was that he'd fallen for a woman that filled the hole in their family so perfectly.

"Turner?" Peter's voice broke through.

"Oh, sorry, what were we talking about?"

Peter just smiled, and Fred let out a laugh deep from his belly. "Doc, you've got it bad, huh? I can't say I saw it coming."

"I'll second that. It was certainly a surprise, but not an unwelcome one." Peter added, following up with, "I am curious, though. How? When?"

Patrick hadn't anticipated this question, not from friends at least. He had prepared vague, evasive retorts for patients and nosy strangers, but he hadn't considered talking about it with friends. And really, the answers to 'how' and 'when' were still eluding him.

Fred saved him from having to reply, "Well, I'm guessing _their_ story doesn't involve Sister Evangelina having to do the legwork."

Peter shot Fred a glare and the handyman had the common sense to switch the focus back to Patrick, "Special lady, you've got yourself mind. She looks right at home with you and young Timothy."

"She certainly is special." Patrick agreed.

"Did I ever tell you about the time that she delivered my piglets?"

"Come again?" Patrick gaped, sure that he had misheard.

After a lengthy tale, told by Fred and embellished by Peter, Patrick was thoroughly amused and once more in awe of his soon to be wife. He couldn't wait to ask her for her version of events. Fred made her out to be the hero of the story, she would be modest, he was sure.

Making his way back into the sitting room, he scanned the area for Shelagh and Tim, finding neither, he moved into the corridor. Upon reaching the clinical room, he heard female voices and strained his ear, hoping to pick out Shelagh's accent.

"I can't believe you, Trixie. Talk about poking the bear with a stick." Jenny sighed.

A high-pitched retort followed, "Well, I just couldn't help myself. I hate to think that Shelagh, now free to experience everything there is in life, wouldn't live it to the fullest because of the Nun's staid opinions."

Patrick felt as though his heart had frozen, what had happened?

Cynthia's voice was next to be heard, "You're not being fair to the Nuns. Sister Evangelina only said not to speculate because that was disrespectful. Not that she disproved or carried any opinions either way. Besides, Sister Bernadette was always a private person and we should respect that."

There was silence for a few seconds before Jenny broke it. "You're right Cynthia. Although, surely, they do have their opinions on the matter. They can't be completely unaffected by it."

"Oh, what do you think Sister Julienne said-"

"Trixie!" Cynthia exclaimed.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!"

"Excuse me, Dr. Turner?" A small voice spoke behind him and Patrick almost jumped a foot in the air. He turned to see Jane,

"Oh hello."

"Would you come with me, Doctor." She paused, looking around nervously, "Nurse Noakes has a _medical_ question for you."

Patrick quickly agreed, concern seeping in. "Of course." He took one last look towards the clinical room, which he noted had gone suspiciously silent, and followed Jane.

When they reached the stairs, she turned to him, "That was a ruse, Dr. Turner. Nurse Noakes doesn't have a medical question for you."

This day was getting more extraordinary by the second. "Uh, right. Are you well, Jane?"

"Oh, quite, Doctor. Thank you for asking. I just thought you should come up and see Miss Mannion. She's a little upset."

"Shelagh? Where is she?"

Jane led him to the room.

* * *

Patrick carefully walked over to the bed and before sitting down next to Shelagh, bent to kiss her on the forehead. "I love you." He said simply.

She exhaled with a little smile, "I love you, too. I'm sorry I-"

He cut her off immediately, "No Shelagh, you have nothing to be sorry for." He gently wiped a tear from her cheek. "I shouldn't have left you alone."

Shelagh sighed, shuffling a little closer to him. "Patrick, you can't be there all the time, just in case someone says something that might upset me."

"Did someone upset you?"

She shook her head but didn't meet his eye, instead she countered with another question. Her voice when she spoke was quiet, guarded, "Why didn't you tell me that you spoke to Sister Julienne before you asked me to marry you?"

He inwardly cursed. It wasn't that he had intended to keep it to himself, the excitement of their engagement and the enjoyment of their time spent together pushed it to the back of his mind, "Did she tell you?"

"She mentioned it." Shelagh frowned, and Patrick disliked being the reason for it, he desperately wanted to replace it with a smile.

"I see." He took her hand that wasn't holding baby Freddie in place. "Shelagh, I didn't tell you at first because I was so caught up in our engagement, I wanted to just enjoy… us. And well, then when I thought back on it, I was embarrassed."

"I don't understand."

He turned slightly on the bed so that he was facing her, "Shelagh, you…us, we are so improbable. I fell in love with you while you were bound by vows, knowing that you were not mine to love. Then I left you at a sanatorium, never knowing if…" He felt his chest tighten. "When you rang, suddenly everything was possible, and I got swept up in my love for you and how much I wanted a life for us, together."

Shelagh's brow furrowed, and her nose scrunched in confusion. "I wanted that - I _want_ that too."

He kissed the hand that he was holding. "I know." He smiled before explaining the cincher. "It's just… you are so incredibly beautiful and quite a bit younger than I am. I had a moment where I realised that outside of the order you could have any life that you wanted-"

Patrick's words fell away as his fiancée's hand slipped around the back of his neck and drew his lips to hers. He closed his eyes and followed her lead; this was the first time she had been so bold as to initiate. The kiss was slow and tender and felt to Patrick different to any they had shared before, it felt like a confession, a declaration. Shelagh was in control and she was conveying every ounce of love she carried for him in that kiss.

As they slowly parted, Shelagh looked down at the baby in her arms, "Patrick is a very silly man, Freddie. It could only ever have been him."

He watched as she gently traced the curve of the baby's cheek, delicate and loving. Patrick leant close, "Patrick may be a silly man, but he is also a very lucky man, Freddie." He then kissed Shelagh's temple, just above the rim of her glasses.

They both spent a few moments gazing at the youngest Noakes before Shelagh asked, "Can I ask what happened?"

Patrick found it surprising easy to recount the meeting with Sister Julienne, after all, the nun had been positive and encouraging. Had she not been, it might have proved more difficult to discuss. When he concluded, he chanced a look at Shelagh and saw that she was still looking down at Freddie, but her expression was guarded. A look he hadn't seen since the sanatorium. "I'm sorry, Shelagh."

She looked up then, still guarded and a little sad, "No need to apologise, Patrick. I'm just trying to understand. What would you have done if she had discouraged you?"

Patrick faltered. Did she think that would have deterred him? "I… I would have still asked you to marry me."

"Then why?"

Seeing it now, from Shelagh's perspective, he can see how it would look like he was seeking permission and approval. Really all he had sought was a friend. "I needed a bit of courage, needed to talk to someone who I trusted but who also knew you well. If Sister Julienne had discouraged me, I would have still asked but would have also prepared myself for the worst." She still looked concerned, so he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, hand lingering on her jaw and explained, "Shelagh, they love you and were encouraging. Your happiness is all that is important to them and if I make you happy – which I intend to make it my life's mission – then they are content."

As he spoke, he had noticed Shelagh's eyebrows raise high above the rims of her glasses and her jaw had gone slack. She looked surprised, only he couldn't fathom why.

"They? Patrick who else did you speak to?"

He winced, and she just continued to stare. "Sister Evangelina." He admitted quietly and noticed her eyes seemed to widen more than he thought possible. Before she could say anything, he hurried to explain, "It wasn't intentional, I was ready to leave and when she confronted me about something Timothy had told her, I assumed Tim had let the cat out of the bag." It occurred to him that he still didn't know what she had intended to confront him about.

"What happened?" She asked softly and now he saw concern where the surprise and doubt had previously resided.

"Well this is where it gets a bit more embarrassing. I professed my love for you, well, shouted it actually. Naturally, Sister Evangelina assumed some grand seduction on my part."

Shelagh smiled a little, and Patrick was flooded with relief. She was finding this situation hard enough and he hated to think that he had made it worse for her. He decided to carry on. "Sister Julienne calmed the situation down and they both gave their blessing… in their own way."

Shelagh was quiet for some time and the only noise in the room was an old clock and Freddie's little snores. Patrick willed himself to wait for her to speak and when she did, it baffled him.

"It was very brave of you." At his confusion, she elaborated, "To walk into the lion's den."

He chuckled, "And steal one of their sheep?"

"Oh, Patrick, don't." She laughed, "It makes it sound as though you marched into Lauds and threw me over your shoulder. Besides, being a sheep implies that I was their dinner."

"I think you'd be safe, I've heard that this place runs on cake." Patrick was rewarded with a roll of Shelagh's eyes, but he would take the smile that accompanied it. "Am I forgiven?"

"I suppose." Then she sobered. "I wasn't upset, just confused. You and Timothy have become my safe haven in this transition and when Sister Julienne said she'd spoken to you before, it just felt like that safety was floating away from me."

"Oh Shelagh." He held her gaze, "I want you to always think of us as your safe haven. Always."

"Being here, at Nonnatus…it doesn't feel like it once did. This was where I felt at home, at peace. Only now, it greets me like a stranger." When Shelagh paused, Patrick waited patiently, determined to let her work through it at her own pace. "I am different now, I know that, and my place here is uncertain… but I think that's alright. Nurse Noakes suggested that I concentrate on us," she blushed fiercely, and it intrigued Patrick before she carried on, "on our family." The last word was a whisper as though the reality of it was still eluding her.

"I've always found Nurse Noakes to be a sensible woman." Patrick wondered if he should send the aforementioned nurse a token of gratitude. "And everything else, I promise you we will work out." He didn't say those words lightly, gazing upon her cuddling the Noakes' baby to her chest, he knew that he would give her anything that she wanted and anything that she needed to reconcile her new life with that of her life at Nonnatus.

The baby started to fuss, and Shelagh stood up and slowly started walking around the room, rocking him gently. Patrick watched her with a small, contented smile. He remembered watching Marianne in much the same situation with Timothy, remembering the love and wonder at having created something so precious. He hadn't thought he would have that chance again. When she locked eyes with him, he couldn't hide his smile. "You're a natural."

She looked pleased but countered with, "I'm a midwife, Patrick."

"No, you are so much more than that." He liked to see her blush.

She stopped and shifted Freddie to her other arm. "I spent so much time in this room, wondering if I could be more than that. If I was meant to be more than a religious sister and a midwife." She looked at the bed as if remembering, "If I was meant to be with you."

Patrick's mouth dried up completely; he knew that he should say something comforting, but his mind had fixed on one detail and all he managed to choke out was, "This is your room?"

" _Was_ my room, Patrick."

"Right." He was a jumble of thoughts, this stark, dull room didn't seem congruent with the beautiful, bright woman before him. He ran his hand along the comforter on the bed, imagining her small frame bundled underneath; he pictured her kneeling by the bed in prayer, just as Timothy used to do before bed. Patrick wasn't sure if he still did. Then another, more titillating thought fought to the surface. "We just kissed in your room, in a convent."

" _Old room_ , Patrick." She let out a huff of laughter and seated herself next to him again. "I found no solace in this room in the months leading up to my admission at the sanatorium. I thought about you often while retiring to bed."

He groaned, knowing that she could only mean that innocently didn't stop his imagination from running wild.

Shelagh continued, oblivious to any discomfort she had triggered. "My thoughts were consumed during the days too, but I think that was more a questioning of my vocation. There was always so much to do, so many distractions, but at night? At night, it was always you."

Patrick squeezed her arm, "I think that it's for the best that I don't divulge how much time I spent thinking about you. Day and night."

Shelagh laughed, and Patrick thought that it was the sweetest sound. "Don't exaggerate, Patrick." She teased.

"I wish I could say I was. You have no idea how much crockery I broke while thoughts of you distracted me."

She laughed again and then the door swung open suddenly. Sister Monica Joan stood, framed in the doorway, confusion etched into her features. Her voice when she spoke, was high pitched and frantic, "You ought not to be here!"

"Sister…" Patrick started, no idea how to finish the sentence.

"This is no place for you. You cannot entertain the fairer sex in this convent."

"Sister Monica Joan," Shelagh's voice was firm, "Dr. Turner is not entertaining, only helping me look after young Freddie, here."

She stared at Shelagh, as though the younger woman's voice had dispelled all illusions and sadness pooled in the Sister's watery eyes. "You… you do not wear your Habit, Sister. It… it is not appropriate for you to… to..."

Shelagh carefully handed Freddie to Patrick and he watched transfixed as she slowly approached the confused Nun. Taking the other woman's worn but still elegant hands in to her own, she spoke softly, "Sister, I am not with the order anymore. God has a new path for me. A path with Dr. Turner and Timothy."

Patrick watched the exchange with bated breath.

The Sister's eyes were moving rapidly between Shelagh and Patrick, as if trying to solve a riddle. "You have left our family for that of another." The words were said with a matter of fact tone, but not unkindly. "One in great need of healing. You have always possessed gifts far surpassing many in our Order and have never shied away from that which is needed. This, a noble sacrifice."

"No. Not a sacrifice, Sister. A gift from God." Shelagh assured, voice steady.

Watching her in that moment, Patrick had never felt surer of anything. Her conviction settled any doubts that may have lingered and when he looked to Sister Monica Joan for her reaction, he was sure he could see relief and contentment in her expression.

Freddie let out a mighty wail, pulling Patrick's attention from the scene in front of him.

Chummy - as though she had not actually strayed too far from her baby boy – was on hand immediately, reclaiming her son and cooing to him softly as she made her way downstairs. Sister Monica Joan followed, waving and clucking at the small child.

Patrick and Shelagh were left alone.

"Can we go home, Patrick?"

"Of course, lets go and find Timothy and then we can go."

She picked up her discarded coat. "Then, when we are home could we have a talk?"

His heart sank, the confidence from mere minutes before evaporating. "A talk?"

Her smile was shy, "I thought we could start making some plans for our wedding."

* * *

Thank you so much for reading and my apologies for leaving it so long between updates. Real life and all that jazz has been getting in the way.

Special Super Thanks to Tangledupinmist for being an absolute gem and helping me with this chapter!

(Mistakes are all mine)


	11. Chapter 11

Shelagh had quickly come to realise that life with Patrick Turner was going to be hectic. It was an occupational hazard, and she was used to that. Illness did not discriminate, and babies would arrive as and when they pleased. However, it was becoming apparent that the Turner men were just as chaotic in their home lives. It was equal parts endearing and frustrating and she was itching to restore some measure of order. Her life at Nonnatus had been hectic, yet the unsociable hours and rushing from one side of Poplar to the next had been interwoven with a great sense of peace that the daily routines of the convent brought. Perhaps, she could bring a measure of peace with her too.

On this particular morning, Shelagh had bolstered her courage and decided that she would go out and have a look at some dress shops. Not having found it easy to buy ordinary clothes, she didn't have high hopes for wedding dress shopping, however as they were starting to put plans into place, she decided it was high time to have a look. Well, only through the windows to get an idea, but it was a start. Just as she was about to leave her boarding house, she'd received a frantic telephone call from Patrick apologetically asking if she would be able to collect Timothy from school as the young boy had coated a desk with his half-digested breakfast. Patrick had a meeting with the board of health that he had pulled countless strings to arrange, he couldn't cancel now.

"I'll head straight there now, Patrick. Concentrate on your meeting, Timothy will be well cared for."

She heard a big sigh, "I don't doubt that Shelagh, he couldn't be in safer hands. I don't like putting a meeting above him _again_ but-"

"Patrick, you know how important getting the Polio vaccine out is. Timothy would understand."

She listened to his half-hearted agreement before he hung up and she made her way to the front door, speeding up a fraction in the hope that she could quietly leave before Mrs. Douglas could catch her. The woman was lovely, but Shelagh was definitely ready to move on and to her new life. Once they were married, the school could ring her, and they wouldn't have to bother Patrick at work, a little bit of chaos set to rights she decided.

As she briskly walked in the direction of Timothy's school she started musing on how her daily routine might take shape once she moved in. She would get breakfast time in order for a start. She'd been there on occasion, early enough to experience that charade first hand and it was a wonder to her, how either of the Turner's got anywhere on time. A simple routine for laundry would serve her well, too.

Mrs. Douglas had presented her with her own copy of Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management, enthusing, "It's the only book you need live your life by."

Shelagh rather thought that book she currently lived by would continue to serve her much better, besides it baffled her how such a great tome was needed for running a home. Common sense would suffice, she was sure. Though a flick through wouldn't hurt.

Approaching the school office, Shelagh saw Timothy sprawled out along a row of chairs, head dangling over a metal bucket. She rushed over and crouched down next to him while placing her hand gently on his forehead, "Oh my dear, you are quite warm."

"Shelagh?" his sunken eyes looked at her pleadingly.

"I'm here, I'm here. Let's get you home and tucked up in bed, shall we?" She soothed, brushing his hair back from his face.

"I don't think I can walk." Timothy groaned, with dramatic flair.

Shelagh raised an eyebrow, "Well, I can hardly carry you, Timothy. Should I ask Mr. Buckle to fetch his wheelbarrow?"

Timothy laughed and sat up quickly, which resulted in him reaching for the bucket again as the motion upset his stomach. Once certain nothing more was coming up for the time being, he stood. "No wheelbarrows."

"Didn't think so." Shelagh smiled.

"Sister Bernadette?" An unfamiliar voice questioned. "I'd recognise your accent anywhere."

Shelagh spun around to face a young woman in her mid-twenties with a kind smile. "I'm sorry, I don't…" She couldn't decide whether to finish with 'remember you' or 'go by that name'.

The woman didn't seem phased or insulted and quickly introduced herself. "Mrs. Pinnock. You delivered my sister's second, I was with her through the birth and well, little Alfie would have died if not for you."

The memory came back to Shelagh, a complex delivery that went on into the night. Patrick had been there too, though he'd not been needed in the end. "How is Alfie?"

"Oh, he's thriving. Just as troublesome as he was during the birth, but we wouldn't have him any other way." Mrs. Pinnock smiled widely before diverting her attention to Timothy who walked over and leant against Shelagh's side, tucking himself snugly under her arm. "Timothy, I spoke to your father on the phone, he said a, 'Miss Mannion' would collect you." The woman explained, confusion etched on her features.

Shelagh could feel her cheeks colouring, what a peculiar sight they must present for this woman, but she held her head high as she spoke, "I _am_ Miss Mannion, I'm no longer a Religious Sister." She paused while the other woman's eye widened, seemingly just noticing her attire, and then rushed, "It was nice to see you again and I am pleased to hear that young Alfie is doing well, but I must get Timothy home."

Mrs. Pinnock's jaw hung comically slack as she listened, and Shelagh saw the woman's eyes flick down to her hand, no doubt clocking the engagement ring. Shelagh smiled politely and turned herself and Timothy towards the exit.

"I need to lie down." Timothy mumbled into her side.

"I know, love." _Me too,_ she squeezed his shoulder, "We'll be home in no time."

* * *

Upon arriving home, Timothy had wasted no time in bringing his duvet into the living room and curling up on the settee, meekly asking Shelagh to sit with him. She agreed upon the condition that she take his temperature first. Once they were settled with Shelagh perched at one side and Timothy sprawled out with his head in her lap, she started to read from a book that Tim had brought along with his duvet. Unsurprisingly it wasn't a story, but a book about constellations. Shelagh carried on reading to herself long after he had drifted off to sleep, it took her back to Scotland as a young girl, picking out familiar patterns in the night sky with her father.

Realising that she was getting perilously close to finishing the book, she decided that while she was here, she might as well be useful. Carefully lifting Timothy's head and placing a cushion where she had been, she made her way into the kitchen and eyed the stack of breakfast pots by the sink. "Thought as much," she smiled as she started to fill think sink with water.

Just as she was wiping down the counter tops, she heard a mumbled, "Mum?" float through from the living room.

She froze.

"Mum?" A second time.

Her heart was hammering in her chest. This poorly little boy wanted his mother, and all he had here was her. How could she possibly suffice? She slowly walked into the living room, dreading seeing the realisation in his eyes when she appeared, yet when she knelt to his eye level and brushed his hair from his forehead, she was taken aback by the relief that shone in his eyes.

"I thought you might have gone home." He said sleepily.

Shelagh swallowed the lump in her throat. "No. I'd much rather be here with you."

Timothy's smile lit up his whole face and Shelagh was worried she might burst into tears and horribly embarrass the poor boy. Fortunately, the moment was broken by a loud rumble.

"I think that was my tummy."

"I'm not surprised, you must have emptied it this morning." She headed towards the kitchen, "Do you think you could manage some toast?"

Timothy sat up and rubbed his eyes, "Can I have jam on it?"

"I think we should stick to plain toast until we are sure your stomach has settled."

Making his way into the kitchen, Timothy agreed, "That's probably a good idea. I used to love kippers but once they made me really sick and now I can't stand them. I'd hate to feel that way about jam!"

"Quite right, Timothy."

"When you and Dad get married, and you come and live here, can I…" He trailed off and Shelagh held her breath… "will you cook all the meals?" he finished.

Shelagh set the toast down in front of him and took a seat at the table herself, wondering if he'd not been about to ask another question. "I suppose I will do most of the cooking."

"That's a relief."

Shelagh smiled, "I'm not sure I'm all that proficient in the kitchen, I wouldn't go getting your hopes up too high."

"You're already doing better than Dad." He held up the slice of toast he was nibbling at, "I'd forgotten that toast didn't always come out black!"

Just as Shelagh was about to gently admonish him for teasing his father, they heard a rustling sound coming from the direction of the front door and then a muffled curse. Approaching the door to investigate, Shelagh saw something half jammed in to the letter box. Surely the Royal Mail service had not slipped to such a reproachable level. With a huff she marched to open the door, and instead of revealing a rather lackadaisical postman, she found a harried former colleague.

"Chummy, whatever are you doing?"

"Oh, Shelagh! Goodness, I've made a bally mess of this, haven't I? Perhaps, a second career as a postmistress is not in the offing."

Shelagh smiled, and inspected the article jammed midway through the door. "Whatever is that?"

"It was something for you actually, and I wasn't sure where you were boarding so I thought I'd pop it through here with a note attached. As Dr Turner would likely see you before I did next, it seemed like a good idea. Only I didn't want to pop it to him at the surgery as, well, I didn't want to embarrass him, you see."

Shelagh raised her eyebrows, she was equal measures intrigued and worried at that comment. "What is it?" She asked timidly.

Chummy must have noticed her apprehension and was quick to reassure. "Oh, it's just a wedding dress brochure. I found it while sorting through a box of old things and I had so much fun looking through it when I was planning my wedding – though it was rather lacking in any girls of my stature! – that I couldn't bear to throw it out when you could have use of it too. That is, if you haven't already chosen something."

"Oh, that is very kind of you to think of me." She had planned to find and buy the first sensible dress that was smart and fit for purpose, but this brochure suggested that was not the done thing.

Chummy beamed, either not noticing Shelagh's discomfort or pretending she didn't. "Once we dislodge it, that is. Oh, and be mindful that there are a few dresses with big circles drawn around them. They were Trixie's rather _bold_ suggestions. I mean can you imagine me in a backless number, cut above the knee?"

Shelagh opened her mouth to respond when Chummy leant close and lowered her voice, "Also, towards the back, well there is a section that is aimed at, shall we say, the _post_ wedding activities that is rather enlightening- Oh Timothy! What Ho!"

Entirely sure that her cheeks were now flaming red, Shelagh hurried to Timothy's side, "Are you alright, dearest?"

"Hello Mrs. Noakes." He said, politely. He then turned to Shelagh and whispered, "I've eaten my toast but my tummy hurts."

Shelagh stroked his hair lovingly. "Why don't you get yourself tucked up on the settee again and I will see about making up a hot water bottle."

"And then can you read to me again?" He asked hopefully.

"Of course. You go on."

As he trudged back down the hall, Shelagh turned to see Chummy successfully free her offering.

"Ah, that did it. It's a little dog eared now, I'm afraid." She handed it over looking quite miserable.

Shelagh smiled, it really was a lovely gesture and it couldn't hurt to look. "It will straighten out, I'm sure. I'll pop it under a heavy book for the afternoon." She gently took the brochure from Chummy's outstretched hands. "This will be very useful, thank you."

Chummy was now beaming again, "Splendid! Now, I must be off, and you must get back to young Timothy, he looks positively out of sorts."

* * *

It was early evening when Patrick returned home. Shelagh watched from the kitchen as he burst in, angrily pulling his coat off and kicking his shoes to the side. His face looked like thunder and she surmised that the meeting had not gone so well. As Timothy was sound asleep in the living room, she decided to be proactive and called Patrick gently into the kitchen.

He responded by matching her volume, "How's Tim?"

"He's asleep," she gestured through the hatch, "his temperature is normal and he's keeping his food down now. He's just sleeping a lot."

Patrick smiled, "I do the same when I'm unwell. Thank you so much, for taking care of him and…" He paused looking around the kitchen, "Have you cleaned?"

"I just had a quick whip around with the Dettol."

"And something smells delicious!"

"It's only a stew, I noticed a few vegetables looked like they were not long for this world so I-"

Patrick cut her off with his lips, it was a quick sweet kiss and when he stepped back she was transfixed by the look in his eyes. "Thank you, Shelagh." He kissed her forehead then, "I've had the most frustrating day but coming home to you… I can't wait until every day ends with coming home to you."

"Oh Patrick, me too."

They gazed at each other for a few seconds, so caught up in one another. Then Patrick decided, "How about you dish up the stew. I'll carry Tim to bed and see him settled in and then we have the evening."

They sat together at the table and ate while Patrick filled her in on the day's events, or lack thereof. He was incensed that two confirmed Polio cases did not warrant an immediate vaccination programme.

"They will consider this area when there have been five confirmed cases. _Five_ children have to catch a fatal disease to prompt action! It's cruel and unnecessary!"

"What about other areas?"

"As you'd expect, the more affluent areas with better housing and sanitation, and _less risk_ , are getting it first."

"Like the mass screening programme." Shelagh agreed softly.

"Exactly. I couldn't bear to think…" He couldn't finish his sentence and didn't have to. They both knew the timely x-ray had saved her life.

"Patrick, you fought for the x-ray van with everything you had and succeeded. I've no doubt you will convince them to bring the vaccination programme forward."

"I had you fighting by my side then."

Shelagh took hold of his hand. "And you have me even more so now, I just won't be on the front lines with you." She smiled, and she found she really was happy with that. As she'd been cleaning today, she'd let herself daydream. She'd let herself dare to imagine seeing Timothy off to school in a morning and then looking after the home with a baby on her hip, a family life that had once been closed off to her was now within reach.

The way that Patrick was smiling at her, she liked to think that he was seeing the same image. Once they had finished their meal, Shelagh busied herself cleaning the dishes and putting them away. She didn't see Patrick looking quizzically at one of his old medical textbooks out on the side table.

"Fancied a bit of light reading, Shelagh?" He asked jovially.

Shelagh appeared behind him, drying her hands on a tea towel. "Light reading? I don't-" She realised what he was looking at gasped, "Oh, I forgot about that, I meant to put it back in your study."

"That's alright, it's not a particularly interesting read, though. I've found the best text on communicable disease to be-" As he picked up the book, he uncovered something much more interesting, "What's all this?"

She'd been hoping to slip the brochure from Chummy into her bag before she left. It would be easier to _deal_ with in the privacy of her room. She looked at it distastefully, "Oh, nothing much. Mrs. Noakes thought I might want to look at it but honestly I don't think that's really necessary."

"That was nice of her." He flipped through a couple of pages. "Why does it look like you liberated it from a rubbish bin?"

"I most certainly did nothing of the sort!" When she realised he was teasing, she blushed but carried on, "Mrs. Noakes managed to get it wedged half way through your letterbox. It doesn't matter anyway, I was going to dispose of it." She reached out for it, but Patrick held it just out of reach. He was smiling slightly which she found infuriating.

"I can certainly believe that of Mrs. Noakes," he said fondly. "However, I cannot believe that you would dispose of something that was given to you in kindness." His smile was definitely turning into a smirk, "Not after you went to the trouble of straightening it out."

She felt as though she had been trapped in a web of lies that she hadn't even been aware of spinning. As she watched Patrick move to the settee, she squeaked, "What are you doing?"

"Looking at wedding dresses." He said simply. "Would you like to join me?"

Shelagh remained awkwardly rooted to the spot for a few moments before giving in and sitting next to Patrick. Sitting together on the settee usually consisted of Shelagh tucked into Patrick's side with his arm around her shoulders. It was am embrace she had come to crave, she loved being wrapped up in his warmth and his familiar scent, yet in this instance she found that she was more comfortable having a bit of space between them.

If Patrick found it unusual that she was sitting ramrod straight and at a distance, he didn't mention it. "Right then," he opened it at a page midway through, "Oh, that's… um… it's circled?"

Shelagh braved a look and saw the most unusual style dress, seemingly cut too high and low in all the wrong areas. "Not by me, or Mrs. Noakes even." At his quizzical expression, she elaborated, "I gather Nurse Franklin was assisting Mrs. Noakes in her selection."

Patrick smiled, "Well that certainly explains that!" He flipped through a couple more pages, "This one looks nice," he flipped a couple more pages, "and this one too."

Shelagh felt as though her chest was becoming tight and was startled when he gently stroked her knee and asked, "Do you have any ideas? You'd look stunning in any of these."

"No." She spoke quickly but softly, tinged with sadness. "I wouldn't."

Patrick gently turned her head to face him, "Shelagh?"

She sighed, "I can't wear any of those, Patrick. What would people think?"

"What people?" He asked, taking her delicate hand in his much larger one.

Instead of answering his inquiry, she took a deep breath and said, "These dresses aren't meant for people like me."

Patrick was silent for a few seconds, searching her face and she was sure he could see right into her soul when he asked, "You don't want to attract attention?"

She hated the way his voice sounded hurt. "It wouldn't be right, Patrick. I wore a wedding dress when I made my vows to God." It was so difficult to explain. "I think I would feel more comfortable in something more understated. Do you mind?"

He kissed her cheek so gently, "Shelagh, how could I mind? I want it to be a happy day for both of us and neither of us will be happy if you are not comfortable. I just want you to become my wife, whether we stand up and say it in front of all our friends or just God."

She knew that he had added that last part for her and she loved him more for it.

He caught a tear on his thumb that had escaped from under the rim of her glasses. "Besides, I gather it's rather fashionable to forgo big white dresses now. Mrs. Noakes didn't wear one as I recall."

Before she had time to censor her words, she gave away Chummy's secret, "I think that was more of a statement regarding her lack of entitlement to a white dress."

Patrick looked adorably confused and then his eyes widened, "Oh!" He chuckled, "Well good for them."

Shelagh felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. Despite Patrick's apparent glee at this information, she knew that wouldn't be the path for them. No, her embarrassment stemmed from the ease with which she divulged someone else's private life. "I shouldn't have said that, it wasn't my information to share." She bit her lip, "I have a habit of overhearing or being drawn into gossip."

Patrick laughed and pulled her close to his side, she didn't resist, feeling herself relax in his arms. "I won't tell anyone," he kissed her head, "you can tell me anything and it stays between us, will always stay between us."

Gathering her courage, she asked, "Can I tell you something that Timothy said today?" It had been echoing around her head all day. _Mum._ Did he mean to say it? Did he mean her?

Patrick groaned and let his head flop back on the top of the settee, "Was it about my cooking? Every time I so much as walk near the kitchen he starts talking about how nice it will be when you are here to cook more often." He lifted his head to smile at her, "If I didn't already know how much that boy loves you, I would think his only concern was his stomach."

"He loves me?" She whispered, in awe.

"Of course. Surely you don't doubt that?" He sat up properly now and turned his body to face her, "What is it Shelagh? Did he say something to upset you?"

"He called me Mum."

"Oh," He said with relief, before frowning, "Did that upset you?"

"No, no," She rushed to explain, "It's just that, I couldn't be sure whether he wanted me, or he was calling out for his mother."

"Oh, Shelagh. I am positive he meant you. As a matter of fact, we had a conversation the other night about what he might call you after we marry. It was Tim that brought the subject up, after berating me for not doing the voices like you do while reading."

Shelagh smiled at his indignation but demurred, "I don't do anything special."

Patrick looked incredulous, "Managing different voices for a book on astronomy with no characters is certainly special, sweetheart." He winked and then sobered, "I asked him what he'd like to call you, and his thoughts were that if we are to become a proper family, he would feel happier calling you Mum, rather than Shelagh." He kissed her hand, "If that's alright with you?"

"But, Marianne-"

"Shelagh," He gently cut her off, "Marianne has gone." She could see that the words still hurt him to say and it endeared him to her more. He had such capacity for love. "She was a wonderful mother and gave Timothy the best start in life, but he still needs and deserves a mother's love. I know you'll give him that regardless of what he calls you because you already do. I think perhaps you already were before you agreed to be my wife." He held her hand against his chest, against his heart, "And I know that Marianne would want the very best for him."

"I've got such a yearning to care for him and to love him," She lowered her head shyly, and added, "As I do for you."

At her words, Patrick tilted her head towards his and kissed her soundly. When his lips left hers, he lingered a breath away and whispered, "How about Christmas?"

"Christmas?"

"To marry!" He put some space between them and grasped both of her hands in his. "We can start the new year as a proper family."

Adrenaline rushed through her, it was a matter of weeks away. Nervous energy spiked as the reality set in but looking into his eyes and seeing the love encased there calmed her. "Yes." The simple word encompassed everything.

He kissed her again. "It gets harder every time to take you back to your lodgings and say goodnight."

"It gets harder to go back too. Not for much longer, though. Tomorrow, I will go to the church and see if I can't secure us a date."

As Shelagh retrieved her coat, after sneaking the wedding dress brochure into her handbag, and readied herself to leave. She decided to look in on Timothy before she left, watching the steady rise and fall off his chest, she smiled and allowed herself to test out the words,

"My son."


	12. Chapter 12

Patrick inhaled deeply and savoured the last drag of his cigarette before stubbing the butt out in the ashtray that Nurse Franklin had procured for him as if from thin air. He decide not to question it, imaging it probably had something to do with Sister Evangelina and her distaste for discarded tab ends littering the ground.

The garden of Nonnatus house was bitterly cold but he needed a moment before he headed back to the surgery. He had managed to secure the polio vaccination programme with no little determination and a letter of support from Sister Julienne but he didn't feel the elation he had when he and Sister Bernadette had triumphed over the medical board. Perhaps it was knowing that it was too little too late for some children.

"Dr Turner?"

He turned to see Sister Julienne approaching him with a cautious step. "Hello, Sister."

"I wanted to congratulate you personally on your success with the medical board."

He sensed that wasn't what she had followed him out into the cold to say but he replied politely nonetheless, "Thank you, your letter helped greatly."

Neither spoke as a gust of wind rushed through the garden, uprooting and displacing the last of the fallen leaves. He wasn't sure when it had happened but he'd started to feel uneasy around Sister Julienne. The overwhelming sense of wanting to apologise would creep in and he'd excuse himself from the situation. He would never apologise for loving Shelagh as he did or for her choosing a life with him. To apologise would suggest competition, as if she was a prize to be won and commiserations had to be offered to the losing side. No, the crux of his unease was how saddened Sister Julienne always seemed by Shelagh's absence.

Voicing his thoughts without precursor, he explained, "She just needs time."

As if she had been privy to his internal reflection, Sister Julienne replied instantly, "I know. I know she will come to us when she is ready." She sighed. "Please do not mistake my melancholy for misgivings, I couldn't be more happy for you both. It's just, she is so missed."

He nodded, unsure of what comfort he could offer. Shelagh had told him that she wanted to focus on Timothy and himself, on their family. Hearing her say those words had filled him with unspeakable joy. For so long, he had craved such a sentiment from her and spent untold hours daydreaming of what a life with her would be like. Yet in his musings, he had not once considered that that she would cut herself off so much from the life she had previously lead, from her friends and religious family.

He knew that she needed time and space to discover who she was outside of the order and that he would fully support. What worried him was the guilt she carried over her decision to leave; he'd hoped the wedding would be the occasion to heal that rift, yet that wasn't looking likely.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts again, Sister Julienne asked, "Have you set a date?"

"Christmas Eve." He smiled despite himself, as he did whenever he thought of their upcoming nuptials, and then rushed to explain, "We decided on just a small, simple ceremony. I've experienced it all before and Shelagh..."

"Shelagh won't want a big fuss, I imagine." She spoke fondly. "Christmas is a wonderful time to begin a marriage, a season full of so much love and joy."

"Indeed." Patrick breathed a sigh of relief, he'd been debating when it would be appropriate to divulge their wedding plans. Their situation was so unique, normal social convention didn't seem to fit. At least this way, Sister Julienne would no doubt pass the information on to their colleagues. He'd been half expecting Nurse Franklin to boldly ask when the invitations would be sent out with a cheeky wink and a smirk or for Nurse Miller to offer her services wherever needed but so far, everyone merely sought reassurances that Shelagh was well.

Feeling he needed to add more, he thought of his son, "Timothy is beside himself with excitement, though he was quick to seek reassurance that the wedding wouldn't interfere with opening presents on Christmas morning."

Sister Julienne laughed heartily, "And rightly so." Tentatively, as though wary of overstepping, she added, "They have a lovely relationship, Shelagh and Timothy. I couldn't help but watch them at the Christening."

Patrick chuckled, "I have to keep pinching myself to believe it." He sobered then and felt compelled to unburden, "When I see them together, Shelagh nurturing Timothy's curiosity and Tim making her laugh until she has tears in her eyes, it feels as though he has been given his childhood back." Patrick sighed, and his voice dropped to almost a whisper, "Before her, I didn't even realise how much of it he had lost."

"She will bring such love and warmth to your family, I have no doubt but don't underestimate what you and Timothy are providing her. Seeing Shelagh with you both at the Christening, I saw a look of peace and contentment that had been eluding Sister Bernadette for some time."

A lull rested in the conversation as he mulled over her words and Patrick was startled when Sister Julienne gently touched his arm, "If you could inform me when you have the first vaccination clinic booked, I'll ensure some of the nurses are available."

"Thank you, Sister." He hoped she knew that his thanks was for her support both personally and professionally. As he watched her walk back inside to the warmth of the convent, he thought of the support Shelagh could use at this time. There would be a catalyst to bring them together sooner or later. He just hoped for Shelagh's sake that it would be sooner.

* * *

"Derek's through in the sitting room, Dr. Turner. Can I get you a cup of tea? It's getting chilly out there now. The snow will be coming in any day now, you mark my words."

Patrick smiled, removing his scarf and gloves. "A cup of tea would be lovely, Mrs Johnson. Thank you." He made his way into the sitting room, crowded as it always was with more furniture than the small room could really handle and found Derek polishing a pair of old 'oxfords' that looked like they had seen better days.

"Here he is! Dr Turner you sly old fox." The old man's gravelly voice was awash with amusement.

"Excuse me?" Patrick feigned ignorance though he had an inkling of what was coming next.

"Ahh, don't play coy, lad. Words getting around, you're on ya way to 'avin a new missus if I'm not mistaken?"

Patrick took a deep breath and braced himself. This wasn't an isolated incident, word had indeed travelled. "You are not mistaken, Mr Johnson." Patrick smiled politely and attempted to move on, "Now, how are you getting on with the medication I prescribed? Your breathing sounds better-"

"Nun wasn't she Doc?" Derek interrupted. "Ay, I don't know how you managed that."

"I don't quite understand myself." He admitted, indulging himself more than Mr Johnson. "She is an incredible woman, I am very lucky." He'd realised, early on, that avoiding the topic completely was futile but a tidbit of information would satisfy most.

"I'll say! Younger than you as well I'd wager."

"A _bit_ , yes." Sitting down on a vacant chair, he adopted his best, 'back to business' face. "Now, you don't sound as though you're wheezing quite as much as you were when I saw you last time."

"Ay, you're not wrong, Doc. I can manage the stairs now too. If I take it slow, like."

Just as Patrick was starting to get somewhere with Derek, Mrs Johnson then reappeared with a welcome cup of tea and an unwelcome line of questioning, "Now then, Doctor. I hear you're getting married to that little nun. Oh, it's really quite lovely."

"Thank you."

"I said to Derek, here. I said, I've seen it all now, Derek! I've seen it all!"

"Yes, well-" Patrick tried to cut in.

"I can't imagine what you have in common though, a Nun and a Doctor! It's like something from a film!"

"She's a pretty face, Elsie love. Never underestimate a pretty face."

Patrick grit his teeth and poured all of his energy into remaining professional. "I do have other calls to make this afternoon, so I suggest we move on to the examination, Mr Johnson."

Mrs Johnson looked rather put out by the suggestion, likely harbouring a list of questions and a burning desire to mine the gossip from the source, but her husband acquiesced and started to unbutton his shirt. "Right you are, Doc."

* * *

"If you could just open your mouth a little wider for me, Jessica, there's a good girl."

Patrick peered inside expecting to be confronted with at least some swelling judging by the way the girl's mother had insisted on an emergency call out. There was some slight redness but nothing that required medical attention.

"You're Timothy's Dad, aren't you? He's in my class at school, he said you are getting married at Christmas!"

Patrick smiled, wondering if this was the Jessica that Tim had dubbed a 'know-it-all'. "Of course, _Jessica Stenton,_ are you looking forward to the Christmas Concert?"

Before young Jessica could answer one way or the other, her mother chimed in, "Ah yes, I'd heard about your marriage. It makes sense to select a Nun to look after your lad, marrying her though. That's… an _odd_ decision." Her tone of voice had been overly saccharine, incongruous to the condescension in her words.

Patrick bit the inside of his cheek and refocused on Jessica, "I'm just going to gently feel the sides of your neck to see if there is any swelling." Noticing nothing out of the ordinary, as he had expected, he turned to relay this information to her mother, only to find the woman in question standing so close, they were practically toe to toe. He slid sideways, maneuvering to ensure the coffee table was between them.

"Did you even put an advertisement out for a nanny? I'm sure I would have noticed, I've always had a soft spot for little Jim." She all but purred.

"Tim." Jessica corrected from the armchair in which she had retreated to with a magazine.

"What I mean to say is, there are plenty of women who would make an exceptional wife as well as tending to the lad."

Patrick had a strong urge to list the reasons Shelagh would make an exceptional wife but he presumed it would fall upon deaf ears, and he didn't have all day. " _Mrs_ Stenton, it appears that Jessica has nothing more that a sore throat." He turned his attention to Tim's classmate, "It may feel a bit scratchy and uncomfortable for a bit, I'd suggest plenty of fluids and an early night."

The young girl pulled a face at the suggestion of an early night and her mother's tone changed from honeyed to barbed in an instant, "Fluids? She needs some medicine, a prescription!"

"You can give her some paracetamol to ease the pain, and honey and lemon is always a good place to start with a sore throat."

Mrs Stenton didn't back down, "I'd be happier with some antibiotics, it may turn into tonsillitis and who would wish that on their child for Christmas?" Then, as though inspiration had surfaced, her demeanor softened again, "Perhaps it would be best if you were to call in again tomorrow to monitor the situation, say early evening?"

"If anything changes, be sure to call the surgery."

"And?" Mrs Stenton asked flirtatiously.

"I'll send in the cavalry." He really hoped Sister Evangelina would be available. Failing that, Nurse Franklin could be just as effective.

* * *

Patrick braced himself and knocked on the door. Thankfully his last call of the day was Mary Bishop, a sweet elderly lady that always had a plate of biscuits out ready for him. He felt it unlikely that she was prone to gossip or had any designs on marrying him, but he was still on guard.

Which turned out to be prudent.

"Afternoon, Mrs-"

"You!" She shrieked, shakily holding the door frame so as to better use her walking stick to prod him in the chest. "I'll not have you in my home. Heathen!"

"Mrs Bishop, it's Dr Turner, I come every month to-"

"Oh I know who you are and what you've done! Seducing a woman of God, inciting eternal damnation on her soul."

This was a new one for him, he'd endured people's confusion, surprise, intrigue and definitely some incredulousness but he'd not been confronted with outrage. He considered disagreeing, arguing their case, Shelagh called their love a gift from God but he felt wholly unqualified to throw that into the ring.

Instead, Patrick sighed regretfully, "I'll arrange for another doctor to come out to see you Mrs Bishop." With that he turned to leave, not wishing to cause her any more distress. Still, her lament of fire and brimstone followed him back to his car.

* * *

Patrick locked up the surgery in a bit of a daze, the day had been a real test of his patience and his professionalism. Not since Marianne's death had he felt so exposed. At least then, people had the decency to keep their enquiries brief and as to the pitying looks, well he'd learnt to turn away from those pretty quickly. But even that experience had not prepared him for the utter fascination that his personal life was evoking in the residents of Poplar.

"Ah, Dr Turner! Just the man."

Patrick was close to banging his head in despair against the door he had just locked when he recognised the voice, and worked to compose himself. "Evening Fred. Can I help you with something?"

"A little birdy might have mentioned that Timothy is good with a map and a compass and has recently been on a quest of sorts. I've had a look in the Cubs handbook and it would seem he is not far off what is required for his orienteering badge." Fred was smiling proudly the entire time but it dropped when Patrick didn't respond right away.

"Orienteering?" Patrick questioned, a second later when his thoughts caught up.

"Are you alright, Doc?" Fred peered at him more closely, "Only you're looking a little, ah... out of sorts."

Patrick mentally shook himself, "Sorry Fred, it's been a very trying day. That's great news about the badge, Tim is always excited to earn a new one, he and Jack seem to have made a competition out of it."

"Well nobody else has the orienteering badge yet, so young Tim will have the edge on the lot of 'em." Fred laughed.

"That's good." Patrick agreed distractedly. He would tell Timothy after dinner and no doubt the boy would immediately find his handbook and start planning what he needed to do to complete it. Perhaps Shelagh would like to help him, he had a feeling she was probably the 'little birdie' Fred had spoken of.

Thinking of Shelagh, his thoughts went into disarray again and for the first time since Shelagh had become part of his life, he didn't want to rush home. "Fred, do you fancy a swift half?"

"Half? Make it two halves and you've got yourself a deal." Fred bartered.

Patrick reentered the surgery to call Shelagh and let her know he would be a little bit later home. Her voice alone soothed him and he was relieved to hear Timothy laughing in the background. Going home to her would put his mind at rest, but she'd sense his disquiet and he didn't want to worry her.

" _Take your time, Patrick. Dinner will not be ready for a while anyway. Cutting up the vegetables is taking a wee bit longer than anticipated."_ She said before directing a comment to her young charge, " _The knife is plenty sharp, Timothy. It's your technique we need to look at."_

Patrick smiled as he returned the receiver and made to follow Fred to the Hand & Shears. Once they were settled in, with pints in hand, Fred prompted, "Looks like you've had a shift an' half, eh Doc?"

"Yeah, horrendous." Patrick replied, sampling his pint before setting the glass back on the slightly wobbly table and looking studiously at the ring stains left by patrons past.

When no extra information was forthcoming, Fred took a hearty swig of his ale and prodded, "Not that I don't enjoy passing the time with you, Doc, it's just you seem to have something on your mind and well, I can't remember you ever suggesting a drink after work."

Patrick winced at being caught out, "Honestly, it feels strange being here. I don't think I've had a drink after work since Marianne died. Well, not in a pub."

Fred nodded in sympathy, with a shared understanding that belied any false platitudes. "But now, you have a lovely fiancee at home with your lad."

Patrick took a great gulp of his pint.

"You're not getting cold feet are you, Doc?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I'd marry her tonight if it was possible." He heaved a heavy sigh and continued, "It's just all feeling very complicated and I don't think I considered that to its full extent."

"Falling for a Nun not strike you as complicated, eh?" Fred asked good naturedly.

Patrick let himself laugh, "Oh no, that felt downright impossible. But afterwards, when suddenly she was telling me her name wasn't Sister Bernadette anymore and that she wanted a life with me, it all felt so simple."

"Just two people in love." Fred surmised.

"Quite."

The handyman leant forward, "Except it's never just the two of you. There's the in laws, which in your case is a convent of nuns. There's friends and colleagues who are usually well meaning, but can complicate matters."

"And then you have the entire population of Poplar." Patrick added bitterly.

Fred grimaced, "Ah yes, whose opinions vary from the good, the bad, to the ugly."

"I think I have experienced all of that this afternoon alone. I'm not naive, I was expecting a few comments here and there, hushed whispers and the like but I never imagined people would be so categorical in their appraisal of my private life!"

"Can't all be bad, right? You're well respected in the community Doctor, surely you've had well wishers?"

"I must admit, there have been some lovely responses and most are only curious rather than impolite. It's just exhausting fending people off all day. One gentleman offered to come and sing at our wedding and then the next thing I knew, I was being treated to a hearty rendition of 'Be My Love'."

"Mario Lanza?" Fred asked eagerly, "Beautiful choice."

"Indeed and to give him his due, he sang it well. Then I endured one woman who seemed to think I'd waltzed into a convent and had my pick of the Nuns available as a means of childcare."

Fred choked on his pint and chuckled, "Crikey, can you imagine what Sister Evangelina would say to that if she heard."

"It doesn't bare thinking about!"

"What about the ugly then? We've had the good and the bad."

Patrick stiffened, "There have been some comments of impropriety. Again, easy enough to ignore" he swilled the remaining contents around in the bottom of his glass as he paused, and his voice took on a steely edge, "What I can't understand is why people would judge, or cast aspersions on Shelagh's character because of her decision to leave the religious life. To what extent is she going to suffer because of this, because of me?"

Fred mulled over the doctor's words and scratched the back of his head as he considered his response. When he spoke, his words were calm and gentle against Patrick's distress. "Go home to her, Doc. You've spent the day hearing it from all sides, and that's not an easy thing."

Patrick nodded but his jaw was tense, Fred waited until the doctor looked up and he had his attention to continue, "People will say what they say, can't change that. Can try to reason with them but in my experience, you'll spend too much time on people whose opinions don't really matter."

"You're right, Fred. I know that Shelagh and I know the truth of it, that's all that should matter."

"Exactly, you're much better off spending your time on making sure she knows she's made the right choice." He chuckled and gave Patrick a good natured slap on the arm. "Take everyone else out of the picture, keep it simple."

* * *

Patrick walked through the front door and was immediately assaulted by the smell of roast beef and his son barrelling through from the kitchen shouting,

"Dad! Dad! Come and look at the Yorkshire Puddings! Look how big they are!"

Removing his coat and scarf, Patrick laughed at his son's enthusiasm, "I'm coming, I'm coming. Hold your horses." In the kitchen he found Shelagh removing a tray from the oven with four huge Yorkshire Puddings on.

She set them down by the roast beef and frowned. "I haven't made them for a while, I'll admit I wasn't expecting them to turn out so enormous."

"I think they look great!" Timothy declared, bouncing up and down next to her. "Can I have two?"

"Two might be a little bit excessive, Timothy. They're almost as big as your head." Shelagh gently asserted.

Patrick watched them and felt all the misgivings of the day drain away. Fred, he decided, was a very wise man.

"Everything alright, Patrick?"

He moved over to her and kissed the top of her head, "Perfectly."


	13. Chapter 13

Shelagh could hear a commotion at the front door of her boarding house, but owing to the lateness of the hour decided to make a concentrated effort to ignore it and focus on her bible. Waking in the early hours had become something of a habit and she found the best way to calm her mind was to seek assurance in the word of God. As the wedding drew closer she found herself feeling more drawn to certain passages, " _Entreat me not to leave you, or to turn back from following after you_ ," she read softly, ignoring the increasingly raised voices from the street below, " _For_ _w_ _herever you go, I will go; wherever you lodge, I will lodge_ -"

"Shelagh? Shelagh, are you awake!" There was another wrap on the door, "It's an emergency!"

Shelagh jumped from her bed and had the door open in an instant, "What is it? How can I help?"

Mrs Douglas flinched back slightly, "Oh no, love, it's an evacuation. They've found and unexploded bomb up on that building site off Rake Street. We have to evacuate to a safe distance. Just a precaution they're saying."

"Evacuate? Where to?" She saw her dress box out of the corner of her eye and added, "And how long for?"

"Copper said they're setting up the Leopold Institute as a rescue centre for the night, everyone is to make their way there. You'll be able to follow the crowds in any case."

"You're not coming?" Shelagh asked confused.

"Just called my cousin Irene. I'm going to go over there a day early, makes sense as I'll be there for Christmas anyway." Mrs Douglas started back down the corridor, "Better get some things together quickly, electric will be going off any minute now."

With that, the lights went out and Shelagh's room was plunged into darkness. "Oh heavens." Gently feeling around, she easily sourced her little suitcase and hastily dressed and folded a clean change of clothes inside. She decided nightclothes wouldn't be necessary as she was hardly going to wear those in the public arena of the Leopold Institute. She managed to pack her hair brush and bible before another loud bang at the door made her jump.

"WE NEED EVERYBODY OUT NOW! GRAB ONLY WHAT'S ESSENTIAL, YOU'RE NOT PACKING FOR YOUR HOLIDAYS IN LYME REGIS! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY SITUATION!"

Shelagh secured her suitcase, bundled herself up in her coat and was ready to leave when she looked at her dress box again.

"Ready, love?" Mrs Douglas asked briskly from the doorway.

Shelagh hesitated for a second before grabbing the box, too. "I am now."

Parting ways with her landlady, after promising a full account of the wedding when they next met, Shelagh followed the crowd and the reality of the situation started to sink in. Not long since passed, she would have been instrumental in managing a situation such as this. Which meant it was highly likely that she would be confronted with the Sisters and nurses of Nonnatus upon arriving at the Institute. She carried on walking in pace with everyone else but her heart was hammering at a rate much quicker.

An old man patted her on the arm, startling her. "Don't worry love, nothing to be scared of. You'll soon be safe at the rescue centre."

It didn't feel like heading towards safety. What was she to do, walk in and ask Sister Julienne for a bed and Sister Evangelina for a cup of tea? That didn't feel right. She could offer to help but they wouldn't want that. She had no uniform to distinguish her and the last thing she wanted was for the Sisters to have to face anymore uncomfortable questions about her. No, it didn't feel safe at all.

But what option did she have? She briefly thought that she might see Patrick and Timothy at the rescue centre but it was unlikely that the evacuation would extend that far if the bomb was on Rake Street. Suddenly she thought of the church and their upcoming wedding and her heart sank. Seeing a police officer with a map, she made her way over.

"Excuse me Officer, could you tell me how far the evacuation radius is?"

"It's a fair old way, ma'am. If you've been asked to evacuate, I'd take heed."

"Could I enquire about All Saints church?" She asked hopefully, and when the police officer looked as though he was about to tell her to be on her way, she added, "Only I'm due to get married there in two days."

The officer sighed but looked back at his map, "Right then… ah, yes, the church is accessible, but the parish hall is within the evacuation cordon."

Shelagh sighed in relief, "Thank you."

The police officer nodded in recognition and turned back to his map, effectively dismissing her. She carried on with the crowd, filled with relief at the fate of the wedding but still anxious as to her current predicament. Walking down a narrow flight of steps, while carefully clutching her dress box against the bustle of people all heading in the same direction, she heard them moments before she saw them.

" _Do you suppose the lights will be on when we get there?"_

" _Oh, I hope not! I've still got my pin curls in!"_

Shelagh reached the bottom of the steps but her feet would take her no closer to the rescue centre. Nurse Miller and Nurse Franklin were on their way, where was everyone else? She looked left and right, seeing a sea of people yet no more familiar faces.

" _Ladies and Gentlemen, turn left and make your way to the Leopold Institute."_

Shelagh ignored Fred's instruction and turned right.

* * *

" _I'm sorry to wake you Patrick. Any room at the inn?"_

Shelagh watched as confusion danced across Patrick's face before his expression softened and he held the door open for her.

"Yes, yes, come in." His eyes darted over her, "Are you alright?"

She stepped inside and squeezed his arm in reassurance as she moved past him. "I'm quite well, Patrick. They've unearthed an unexploded bomb on Rake Street so I've been evacuated from my boarding house." Shelagh explained.

Patrick frowned, "Well that will be causing some mayhem, I imagine. Have they set up a rescue centre?"

Shelagh wondered if he would enquire as to why she hadn't gone there and decided it would be better to explain first, "Yes, at the Leopold Institute. That's where I was going but-"

"Well I'm glad you didn't." Patrick interrupted, gently removing her coat from her shoulders as though symbolising his desire for her to stay. "All those people fighting for beds and cramped together? No, you're still recovering, I'd be much happier with you here."

"Patrick, I'm fine, really." She reassured him, while revelling in his protective nature. It was something she hadn't anticipated but couldn't say that she disliked. However, there was a reason she hadn't made her way here immediately on leaving her boarding house and it was starting to weigh on her mind. "Are you sure it's alright for me to be here? If anyone was to realise."

Patrick took her hands into his, "In two days you will be Mrs Shelagh Turner and this will be your home." He brought one hand to his mouth and let his kiss linger. "What's two days?"

The intensity in his eyes while he foretold her married name took her breath away momentarily and she wondered if he would always hold that power over her. But still, worries of propriety gnawed at her. "Patrick, what if people talk? They've ammunition enough already without me sleeping here."

She let Patrick lead her over to the settee, keeping her hands tightly held in his own, "Shelagh, my only concern is that you feel happy and safe here. If people talk, it's because they don't understand. You're not here under false pretences and nothing untoward is going to happen."

"No." She said softly, she knew that there was no chance of anything inappropriate taking place, she trusted Patrick in that. That didn't stop the blush that rose high on her cheeks when she considered that in just two days time, there would be nothing inappropriate about it at all. A prospect that both thrilled and terrified her.

Patrick chose that particular moment to interrupt her thoughts, "You must be exhausted, walking across Poplar at this hour, let me show you to bed. It won't take me a second to change the sheets."

Shelagh gasped, "Oh, no, I don't think that is appropriate at all!"

"I won't be in the bed," Patrick rushed to explain, "I'll sleep through here on the settee."

Shelagh found herself smiling, "I knew what you meant, Patrick but you misunderstand me. I won't have you giving up your bed because I've shown up in the middle of the night." Patrick looked ready to disagree so she carried on firmly, "My stature is much better suited to this settee and its only for one night."

Patrick hung his head in thought but eventually conceded. "Only if you're sure, I'd happily sleep out here."

"I know." Shelagh loved that he was so generous despite all obvious impracticalities. "Oh! I don't have anything to sleep in. I was intending to go to the rescue centre so sleepwear didn't seem necessary."

Patrick chuckled and pulled her up and in the direction of his bedroom, "Well, my dear, you are in luck because I happen to own a rather impressive collection of pyjamas, though I'm afraid the trousers are unlikely to fit you."

"I imagine the top will be long enough to be sufficiently modest." Shelagh was thankful that Patrick had hold of her hand and guided her into his room as she was sure she would have faltered at the threshold. _Two more days._

Once inside, Patrick let go of her hand and went over to a chest of drawers, rifling through them with abandon. Shelagh stayed rooted to the spot in which he'd left her, eyes darting around the room that thus far, she had managed to avoid. Her eyes studied everything, save the bed. When she braved a look, what she saw peaked her curiosity.

"Have you not been to bed at all?" The bed was made with a few rumples at one side and a copy of what looked to be the British Medical Journal was laid open. "It didn't even occur to me that you were wearing your clothes when you answered the door."

Patrick walked back over to her with a pale blue pyjama top in hand. He looked uncomfortable and she suddenly felt as though she'd misspoken, highlighted what ought to not be mentioned.

"I fell asleep reading a journal, actually." He chuckled in a self deprecating manner, and sat on the edge of the bed, "Happens more often than I'd like to admit."

Shelagh could sense so much left unsaid, and knew from her own struggles that nighttimes brought about a seemingly endless stretch of time to be stuck in one's own head, searching and questioning with no hope of distraction. She could have asked if it was a habit he'd picked up after losing Marianne, or she could have enquired as to whether their own journey to each other had played a part, but it didn't feel right to dwell on sorrow.

Instead, she stood in front of him and cradled the side of his face, brushing her thumb gently across the stubble she found there. "I'm hardly surprised. The British Medical Journal can be quite laborious."

His laughter filled her heart and she didn't resist when he pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her middle and lay his head against her shoulder. When he pulled back just far enough to tip his head up to face her, she was enamoured with the boyish expression he wore.

"Soon enough I will have you to wake me should I get lulled to sleep in my clothes by the mundane intricacies of…" He grasped around behind him and on finding his journal added, " _Corticotrophin and Steroids in the Diagnosis and Management of Obstructive Jaundice_."

"Obstructive jaundice? Perhaps I'll be fighting you for first peek." She teased, but sobered when Patrick's expression took on a look of awe; he looked at her with such wonderment and reverence that she was once again struck by the absolute certainty that her place was here, encircled within his arms. She wondered then, if he would kiss her; realised that she longed for it. The intensity of the thought jolted her and only served to brake whatever spell Patrick was under.

He stood slowly, forcing her backwards, though his arms stayed around her waist. "Would you like to change in the bathroom while I make you a bed up on the settee?"

"Yes." She all but whispered, trying to dampen down the disappointment. Why be disappointed when in a matter of days they would be everything to one another.

He handed her the pyjama top and she gently ran her hands over the soft fabric, it was well worn in such a way that a favourite pair might be. The thought made her smile.

"Shelagh?"

She looked up and lost herself again in his awed expression.

"May I-"

"Yes." She breathed, not letting him finish but knowing instinctively what he was asking.

Patrick's lips were on hers in an instant, planting first one long kiss, followed by several teasing pecks that she eagerly met, kiss for kiss. His hand tilted her jaw up before gliding down to rest on her neck, and as he gently pulled her bottom lip between both of his, she found herself dropping the pyjama top and grasping at his braces to anchor herself. This is what she had craved, a visceral reminder that this was all real. Without conscious thought, she pulled back slightly and sighed, to which Patrick chuckled.

"Nice?" He whispered, his lips hovering so close to her they were practically touching.

"Hmm, I was hoping you would."

He kissed her lips quickly, before venturing to the corner of her mouth and then her cheek, by the time he reached her ear, she was feeling dazed. "You know, I would not be adverse to you initiating a kiss, should you desire one. I'd welcome it, even."

His breath was hot and heavy in her ear and it stirred something deep within her that had her dragging his face back to hers. She dared herself to look him in the eye and quirked an eyebrow before guiding his lips back to hers. Feeling, as much as hearing him chuckle, into her mouth, she smiled triumphantly into the kiss.

She'd found every embrace they'd shared to be different, some short and playful, others lingering, decadent and dare she say, sensual. This one however, had an altogether new feel to it, it was imbued with giddy anticipation.

His hands, which had been cradeling her neck, worked their way up into her hair. But it wasn't long before Patrick groaned and pulled away, leaving her feeling bereft. She looked up into his scowling face and felt momentary confusion before he muttered, "Bloody hair pins!"

Her laughter bubbled to the surface instantly and only intensified as Patrick's scowl grew. Feeling uncharacteristically bold, she reached up and pulled them out one by one, letting her hair fall about her shoulders. "They need to come out anyway." She explained shyly, suddenly taken aback by her own actions.

She enjoyed watching his scowl melt away and was greatly anticipating feeling his hands run through her hair once more, when there was a small knock at the door.

"Dad? Is someone in there with you, I heard laughing."

Patrick groaned and Shelagh decided he looked altogether like a child who had just had their sweets taken away, which only made her laugh more. "It's just me, Timothy." She called warmly as she opened the door fully.

"Shelagh!" Timothy gasped. "When did you come back? Are you sleeping here?" He paused in thought, brain scrambling to put everything together, "Can you make scrambled eggs for breakfast?"

Patrick walked up behind Shelagh and placed a hand on her shoulder, while he addressed his son, "Tim, since we are all up and you seem to have a list of questions as long as your arm, why don't you go and put the kettle on and we'll have some tea."

Timothy rolled his eyes, grumbling, "It's not quite as long as my arm," as he turned towards the kitchen.

Patrick followed Timothy, not before sending Shelagh a playful wink that left her blushing.

* * *

Timothy had been thrilled to learn of the bomb currently nestled away in the heart of Poplar and had asked many questions that Patrick nor Shelagh could answer. Eventually his excitement waned as he realised neither adult had any interesting details to share. He drained his cup of tea with an audible gulp and voiced his desire to return to bed.

"Night Tim." Patrick called as his son disappeared down the hall.

An easy silence settled over the room and Shelagh sighed in contentment. Not long before Timothy had retired to bed, she had stretched her legs out along the settee, feet resting next to Patrick. He'd wasted no time in gently tracing his fingers back and forth along her bared ankle. His ministrations were soothing, relaxing. She felt on the precipice of drifting off to sleep when his voice stirred her.

"You look beautiful in blue, it suits you."

She raised an eyebrow and teased, "I've been wearing blue for the past ten years."

He chuckled, "This lighter blue I mean." He scratched the back of his neck as he added, "Although, it could just be seeing you half dressed in my clothing that's having an affect on me."

Shelagh prodded his thigh with her foot, "Excuse me, I am not _half-dressed._ I shouldn't think your pyjama top is much shorter than my own nightwear." While her words spoke of propriety, she could admit to herself that she had experienced an unexpected thrill upon surrounding herself with his scent. It took her back to a misty road and another item of his clothing cocooning her.

"Must just be the colour then." Patrick quipped.

Shelagh smiled and closed her eyes, feeling contented as she let her breathing slow and sleep start to pull at her. The settee dipping down in the middle and the rustling of fabric brought her sharply back. Blinking against the lamp light she saw Patrick was now sat much closer.

"Shelagh, can I ask you a question?" Patrick's voice was soft and gentle but she could see worry behind his eyes.

"Yes." She spoke just as quietly and sat just a little straighter.

"I thought I might…" He faltered, shifting slightly where he sat. "With the wedding so close I just want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. If anything is worrying you, or if you have any questions or… concerns." He gently took her hand, "It's a big step."

Shelagh watched as his long fingers traced a delicate pattern on her hand. His concern was not unfounded, her life was on the cusp of monumental change. She almost couldn't face the fact that it was all happening but she couldn't bare the thought of going back to her life as Sister Bernadette either. How could she now that she knew what it was to love and be loved in return. To know intimacy; how his touch could both soothe and excite. To know a maternal pull so strong it almost consumed her every waking hour. To veer from this path was inconceivable, but to walk it took courage she wasn't convinced she possessed.

"It is a big step, Patrick. But it's a step in the right direction."


	14. Chapter 14

Patrick had started the day with a spring in his step. After escorting the Cubs back to the rescue centre the night before, he had returned home to help Shelagh clean away the last of the mess from the Christmas party. They had spent the remainder of the evening together on the settee. Knowing that they weren't constrained by curfews had given them the opportunity to indulge in leisurely conversation late into the night. Aside from retiring to different rooms to sleep, Patrick could almost believe that they were already married.

He had been as disappointed as Timothy not to be visiting the barbers, he'd been looking forward to spending the day with his son. Their last day as solo Turner men, before they officially became a family of three again. Yet, when a call came for help, he could never refuse.

Arriving at the rescue centre and finding young Jack in such a state had shaken him more than he'd anticipated. Jack was a good lad, if a little rambunctious. Patrick had developed a soft spot for the boy when Marianne had passed. Jack had taken it upon himself to become Timothy's shadow, making sure he was never alone at school and dragging him out to play when all Tim wanted to do was hide away from the world. He'd expected that Timothy would want to know about his friend but he didn't think it was a conversation to be had over the phone.

After seeing Jack off in the ambulance, Patrick had answered a few queries and complaints from concerned parents and been roped into a few on the spot consultations. Finally managing to escape, he paused outside to light a cigarette. The late afternoon sky was giving way to dusk and Patrick smiled as he thought of the fry-up he would soon be enjoying at Capriani's.

The door behind him bursting open made him jump, and fumble with the cigarette lazily balanced between his fingers. He turned around to see Sister Julienne rushing towards him.

"Oh thank heavens you're still here, Doctor. You must go to the hospital right away."

Patrick inwardly sighed but said, "Of course, who is it that needs me?"

* * *

Patrick could hear the nurse bringing him up to speed on the finer details of the care his son had received from the moment the boy had arrived but the words weren't sinking in. The whole situation wouldn't sink in.

He had experienced atrocities that were hard to bear as a medic in the war, had faced the difficulties that working in one of the poorest boroughs in London brought, and lost his wife to an unimaginably cruel disease. Yet nothing had ever terrified him as much as seeing his boy encased in metal, knowing that he was paralyzed to the point that his lungs could no longer expand. How could this be happening to Timothy? How could he have not noticed his own son was unwell? He reached out and traced a finger along his son's cheek, the skin cool and clammy under his touch. "I'm so sorry, Timothy."

Though he was painfully aware of the severity of the situation, he had to believe that his son would get better. He couldn't lose him. It was often commented on that Timothy looked just like his father, and the resemblance was indeed strong, but Patrick would always see Marianne in his son. In his eyes especially and the slope of his brow. Patrick had always taken great comfort in a part of Marianne living on in their son; a legacy of her time on earth. He couldn't lose them both, there would be no comfort to be found.

Should the worst happen, Shelagh would no doubt believe that comfort could be sought in the knowledge that mother and son would be reunited, somewhere beyond their mortal perception. He had seen her comfort grieving patients many times, even those most agnostic were usually calmed by her gentle reassurance of a better place greeting a departed loved one.

His stray thought made him sit up straighter and glance around the ward. He wasn't alone in this most horrific of situations, he wasn't the only one who faced losing a precious son. Desperately he wanted her presence, her comfort and even her faith, to fill the spaces in which his lacked. More importantly, he knew that she would want to be close to Timothy too.

As the nurse walked by, he asked, "My fiance, do you know where she is?"

"The woman who brought your son in?" Came the clipped reply.

Patrick only nodded, eyes transfixed on Timothy.

The nurse looked towards the door, "Ah, she had been standing vigil at the door for a number of hours, however it appears that she has retired for the night.

Patrick slowly raised his head to look the nurse in the eye, "Why wasn't she in here with her son?"

"Immediate family only, Dr Turner. You know the rules."

"Immediate family?" Patrick repeated darkly. "It is… _would_ have been our wedding day tomorrow." He choked down a sob. How had everything fallen apart so quickly? This morning he'd kissed his fiance on the cheek as she headed out west and made plans to have a fry-up with his son.

He felt a hand on his shoulder for a mere moment before it was gone. "I will ensure that she is afforded the same visitation rights as you going forward."

 _Nothing is going to stand in the way of this wedding, I won't allow it!_

The words echoed in his mind and he felt a solitary tear slip down his cheek. He had let them both down.

* * *

She had felt so helpless. She'd got him there as quickly as she could, but then she had been expelled from the room. He'd needed her, called out for her and all she could do was watch from the doorway, desperately willing him to know she was still there, that she loved him. She had watched through watery tears as he became unresponsive and was placed in the iron lung. Strained her eyes to see any change, any flicker of hope that he would pull through this. And then Patrick had barrelled in, a look of abject fear upon his face that tore at her heart just as much as seeing Timothy lying pale and still.

Watching as Patrick had slowly approached Timothy's unconscious form, she was assaulted with an overload of emotions. Sobs racked her body as she watched Patrick's shoulders heave in the same vain. Not since her father had died had she had to confront grief and loss at such a personal level. She felt ashamed that she wasn't considered mother enough to be at his side and helpless in her role of observer. Worse still was the feeling of gnawing regret, if only she had been at home with Timothy, instead of worrying over the colour of a dress.

She'd watched a nurse place a chair by the iron lung and then Patrick fall into it, head in his hands. She loved them both so much, and they were hurting and there was nothing she could do. Was this a cruel twist of fate or a test from God? Was it a punishment for the choices she'd made?

No. God is not in the event. She closed her eyes and asked for guidance but she could only hear her own heart hammering in her chest.

Her fear manifest itself in a dizzying nausea, she needed air. Then with one last glance into the ward, she knew that she needed more courage than she possessed in this moment. There was one place she was certain it could be found, even at the most difficult of times, one door would always be open to her.

* * *

Shelagh woke with a start; the unfamiliar surroundings causing momentary panic. Quickly finding her glasses, the world came back into focus and the memories of the previous day with them. "Oh Timothy." She whimpered.

She'd fallen into a fitful sleep with a prayer on her lips but the comfort she usually found in the practice was absent. Seeking out the Sisters and Sister Julienne in particular had lifted a weight from her heart that had been growing steadily heavier since she left the order. Now, with the weight of her new burden shared, and an old one put to bed, she felt more centred. Able to focus on what needed to be done.

As she quietly folded away the bed and blankets she lamented on how this was supposed to be a joyous day, the day they became a family. There is no joy now, only suffering and fear - but there _is_ love. Sister Julienne had said the words and as Shelagh repeated them in her mind, she realised the true depth of that meaning. There was love, they would have their wedding when the time was right, but her love was needed now more than ever.

She'd left the hospital feeling helpless and lost. Now she was heading back with courage and a renewed determination. A lack of official documentation would keep her from her family no more. She would be permitted into that ward, even if she had to petition the hospital board to get there.

As it turned out, she was granted entrance as she arrived and as a hollow looking Patrick held out his hand her for her, she felt the magnetic tug that bound them to each other regardless of an exchange of vows. They would get there, but first, they had a son to watch over.


	15. Chapter 15

She watched him fumble with the lock for a moment before gently taking the keys from his hand. "Let me, Patrick. You're exhausted."

He let out a self deprecating huff and moved to the side as Shelagh deftly opened the door to the flat. "I am. Completely so."

Shelagh flicked on the lamp in the entryway. "Well now that we are home, why don't you go on to bed and I'll bring a cup of tea through." Making her way towards the kitchen, a thought struck, "You've barely eaten a morsel either, would you like a sandwich?"

When no answer came, she turned to find Patrick a breath away from her and then she was engulfed in his arms. He held her like she might float away from him if he gave an inch.

"Thank you, Shelagh." His tone was weary but sincere. "I dread to think of what might have happened if you hadn't been here to get him to the hospital. I just…" He sighed, and held her closer, "thank you."

She wanted to tell him that he was wrong to thank her, that had she not been fussing over a dress of all things, Timothy might not have become as sick as he had done. Yet, there would be nothing to be gained from debating where blame was placed. Instead she pressed her face into his chest and spoke softly, admitting to both herself and Patrick, "I was so scared when I saw him curled up on the sofa. He couldn't answer me and I felt as though I couldn't breathe, as though every cell in my body wanted to shut down in fear."

She felt his lips press against her head and his voice was gentle as he spoke, "Welcome to being a parent, my love."

* * *

Having convinced Patrick to lie down, she set to work making some tea. The task allowed her to keep her hands busy while she mulled over their current situation. They had left the hospital on the assistance of the matron, following a promising conversation they'd had with the doctor overseeing Timothy's care. Patrick had taken some convincing and Shelagh had informed the matron in no uncertain terms that they would be back first thing in the morning.

There were still a lot of unknowns regarding Timothy's recovery at this stage but he was out of the iron lung and breathing on his own and that left a new palpable feeling of hope growing within the gaping hole that fear had torn in both of their hearts. The drive back to the flat had been filled with a comfortable silence, both reflecting on everything that had transpired and what was to come. And whenever his hand was not required to change gear, Patrick had held on to Shelagh's hand like a lifeline.

It wasn't until they approached the front door that Shelagh realised they hadn't spoken of where she would stay now that they weren't married. She already had most of her admittedly small collection of garments cohabiting with Patrick's. The evening before their world had been turned upside down, Patrick had teased her reluctance to unpack her suitcase until vows had been exchanged. So in a fit of courage that spoke of her growing confidence around her soon to be husband, she'd marched into the bedroom, suitcase firmly in hand with the intention of assessing the space in his wardrobe. Unfortunately, her courage had faltered as she stood before the offending piece of furniture, but Patrick's gentle encouragement to open the door showed her that he had already made space for her.

As the kettle whistled it's readiness, Shelagh frowned at the thought of re-packing her suitcase. Hanging her clothes with Patrick's had felt intimate, a step towards their shared life and now she would have to retrace a few steps back. Quickly, the rare moment of self-pity was pushed back down, her disappointment was inconsequential, her priority had to be Patrick and Timothy. As she added a drop of milk to each cup, she thought about how Sister Bernadette would have met this challenge. No doubt she would have acted with calm compassion, thinking of all the little ways she could make this easier for those involved.

Adding a plate of mince pies, determined to get Patrick to eat something, she decided she could do everything Sister Bernadette had with the advantage of being able to love them both as freely as she desired. A brief image of Timothy curled up, frozen in place on the settee flashed in her mind and she gripped the countertop to steady herself. The vice like grip on her heart a timely reminder that love didn't automatically make everything easier. Love, she realised, would be both her greatest asset and her greatest weakness.

Taking a calming breath, and placing the tea and seasonal treats on to a tray, she headed to the bedroom and found the door left ajar, but not so much so that she could see in. Hesitantly, she called out, "Patrick, can I come in?"

A soft, yet strained chuckle came from the other side, "You don't have to ask, Shelagh. It's as good as your room too."

She entered but smiled sadly, "Not yet, it isn't Patrick."

He took the tray from her hands and set it down on the bedside table. Then sitting on the edge of the bed, held his hand out for her, much as he had done at the hospital.

She went to him and felt tears prickling at her eyes as he kissed her engagement ring softly.

"We _will_ marry, Shelagh."

She forced down the lump in her throat and matched the conviction with which he had spoke, "Yes, we will. As soon as Timothy is home and well."

Patrick nodded and then stood slowly. "My own son," he muttered as he started to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. "Shelagh, how could I not have noticed?"

She watched as he angrily pulled the garment from his shoulders and tossed it onto a chair which until now, she had assumed was decorative. The practiced ease with which he had discarded his waistcoat said otherwise.

"I've been asking myself the same question." She picked up the waistcoat and started to fold it. "I've also been asking myself why Timothy didn't say he felt unwell, we didn't notice any signs but surely he must have?" Her voice wobbled as she carefully placed the now folded garment on the chair, "He knew, didn't he?"

Patrick sat down roughly on the bed and ran a shaky hand through his hair. "For the disease to have reached…"He trailed off, unable to finish.

Shelagh picked up the thought, "He must have felt unwell for a day or two at least." She watched Patrick fighting a losing battle with his cufflinks and decided to step in, gently lifting his wrist up as she spoke, "But he was so excited about the wedding and then with the Cubs' party I just thought he was tired." She frowned and moved to the second cufflink, "Oh Patrick, he kept quiet because of the wedding didn't he?"

Freeing the stubborn cufflink, she dared to look into Patrick's face and was surprised to find a small smile. "Patrick?"

"He loves you."

Shelagh was caught off guard but replied earnestly, "And I love him."

Patrick gently took the cufflinks from Shelagh and placed them on the bedside table, freeing her hands to be held by his. "A little while back, Tim asked me why we weren't getting married immediately. I'd laughed and said that there wasn't any rush, that the fact you had even agreed to marry me was beyond my wildest dreams."

Shelagh smiled and squeezed his hands for him to continue, while wondering if he might have explained to Timothy that their decision not to rush was partly to allow her some time to get used to life outside of the order.

"Timothy was having none of that sentimentality and warned me that if we waited too long, you might find someone else. And I quote, 'Shelagh's perfect for us, Dad. Don't leave it too long or she might realise she could do better!'"

Letting out a watery laugh, Shelagh scoffed, "Better than you two? Not possible."

Patrick smiled and kissed the inside of her wrist, before turning his attention back to why Timothy had been so secretive, "He almost certainly didn't want to disrupt our wedding plans." He grimaced, "I'm torn between feeling proud of how selfless and caring he is, and wanting to ground him for the next ten years for being so stupid!"

Shelagh freed one of her hands from his, to cup his cheek, gently smoothing her thumb across his stubbled skin. "He won't have realised the severity of the illness." Patrick nodded his agreement, so she continued, "And he is out of the lung and breathing on his own, God willing, you have the next ten years to ground him as you see fit."

Patrick's brow furrowed and he quietly repeated the words, "God willing."

Just as Shelagh thought she was about to face an inquiry into God's place in all of this, Patrick completely caught her off guard,

"Shelagh will you stay with me tonight?"

Hesitating for a second, she questioned, "Well, I was planning on staying here. I don't really have an alternative at this moment in time."

"No, I mean, will you stay _in here_ with me?" Taking her hand and placing it against his heart, he asked, "Can you… just for tonight, can you stay with me?"

A few days ago she would have thought it inappropriate to even consider such a proposition, however innocent it's intent. Yet, under the circumstances, the idea of being separated from Patrick by even so much as a wall pulled at her heart. But, sharing a bed? That was something she had envisaged for their wedding night, one of the many firsts they had to look forward to as husband and wife.

Her silence led Patrick to believe he had overstepped his boundaries. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I've made you uncomfortable." He dropped her hand from where he had been holding it to his chest.

"No," She started, wanting to reassure him, but still unsure of where she stood. Propriety dictated that they wait, that they observe the boundaries that defined their pre-marital courtship. However, Patrick was tired and hurting and seeking comfort. Every reason she could think of to say that this was a bad idea paled in significance to her desire to ease his burdens. "I'm going to go and get changed into my pyjamas in the other room and," she summoned her courage, "and then I will be back."

Patrick let out a great breath that she hadn't realised he had been holding, his whole body seemed to sag with relief. "I'll get changed too." He said carefully as though he might spook her and she would change her mind.

Having quickly donned the pyjama top she had borrowed from Patrick, and feeling the weight of exhaustion starting to pull at her, she walked back towards the bedroom. This time, when faced with a half-closed door, she steeled her nerves and whispered, "In for a penny, in for a pound," to herself as she entered without seeking permission.

The sight that greeted her brought a small smile to her lips. Patrick was already under the covers on his side, slumped against the headboard as though he'd been waiting for her, but lost the battle against the pull of sleep. He looked younger, she realised, and no less handsome, but somehow vulnerable. It occurred to her that beyond the longing side glances that characterised her time in the order, she'd not had chance to observe him unnoticed.

Feeling the chill of the bitter December night pinching at her legs, she forced herself towards the bed. It looked inviting, promising comfort and warmth; an antithesis of the hard hospital chairs and camp bed. Laying a hand on the mattress and feeling the soft sheet - a million miles away from the heavily starched bedding she had known at Nonnatus - her earlier misgivings started to resurface.

She had rationalised sleeping in here as a comfort to Patrick, yet he was already asleep. He'd be none the wiser until morning. The man in question shifted slightly and brought her attention back to him. She had told him she would stay with him; how could she go back on that promise now?

Climbing into bed as carefully as she could manage, she turned to switch off the lamp on the bedside table. Thirty seconds of careful inspection and much frowning had her no closer to figuring out where the switch was hidden.

"It's just below the bulb, it pushes in."

His voice was low but still served to make her jump. "Heavens Patrick, I thought you were asleep!" She exclaimed in a hurried rush, trying to calm her nerves.

"Sorry." He sounded anything but, as he effortlessly lent across her and flicked the lightswitch.

With the room now cloaked in darkness, Shelagh slowly lay down, painfully aware of every movement either she or Patrick made. Feeling as though she could hear the blood pounding in her veins, she sought to calm herself with rational thinking. There was no need to be nervous, they were merely sleeping within close proximity.

"We forgot about the tea."

The sentence was so mundane and far-removed from where her thoughts were circling that she almost wanted to laugh. Instead she whispered back, "I suppose it will have gone cold by now."

She felt, more that saw, Patrick turn his head to look at her, "Thank you for making it anyway."

Surprising herself, Shelagh moved closer to him and rested her cheek against his shoulder.

He sighed, "Thank you for being here."

Finding his hand, she slipped hers within, marvelling as she always did at how much smaller hers was. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."


	16. Chapter 16

The second hand on the clock didn't appear to be moving. He squinted his eyes to be sure. Then, just as he was about to call the nurse over to inform her that the timepiece was faulty, he saw it lurch forward. So it was working, which was good… but it also wasn't good because time was moving so slowly he could hardly bare it. Shelagh once told him that when she was waiting for something, and time felt as though it was at a standstill, she would keep a track of the seconds as those moved the quickest.

Visiting time started in ten minutes. He picked at some lose thread on the sheet as he thought, 600 seconds to go… and that was if someone came… and assuming they were on time… 575 seconds now. He would inform Shelagh that this was a silly idea, it certainly wasn't helping.

" _Excuse me, nurse. I'm a little bit early for visiting time, I know, but could I possibly come in now?"_

Timothy craned his head to look over to the nurses station, that was Shelagh's voice, she was here… 490 seconds early! "Mum!" He called out, just in case the nurse had a mind to ask her to come back in… 480 seconds.

Shelagh was granted entrance and Timothy noticed that she looked extraordinarily happy. In fact, he'd noticed that she wore the same expression every time he called her Mum. It was something he was still getting used to himself and sometimes he would forget and call her Shelagh. At least he wasn't accidentally calling her Sister Bernadette anymore… that would be embarrassing.

"Morning Timothy, did you sleep well last night?" She glanced around slyly, "I notice the boy who snores seems to be conspicuously absent."

Tim grinned, "Rumour has it, he's been moved to a private room."

He knew full well that there wasn't actually any private rooms and that the boy in question had probably been allowed to go home, but he was pleased when Shelagh gasped and played along. "Private room you say? I'm not one for gambling but I'd bet you a handful of lemon drops that the Matron popped him in a cupboard."

Timothy laughed a little too loudly to go unnoticed by the other boys patiently hoping for a visitor.

Shelagh leant forward and whispered conspiratorially, "I'll let you know if I pass any snoring cupboards on the way out."

He laughed a little quieter this time, so not as to rub it in for the others who were still waiting for a visit. As he watched Shelagh produce some magazines from a bag and talk through her selection, he found that instead of listening, his mind wandered.

Shelagh seemed happy, _very_ happy. Thinking back, she had seemed different the last couple of days and now he could see it clearly, she was happier than he'd ever known her to be. Which _was_ nice… but it was _also_ suspicious.

When he'd woken up in hospital and everything had been explained to him, he'd wanted to cry. The wedding had been cancelled and his Dad looked so sad, they both did. They were trying to pretend they weren't but he knew the look on his Dad well, it was like when his Mummy had died.

They had reassured him that they would still get married, and they would still have the life they had planned, the three of them together. _But,_ the wedding hadn't happened and Shelagh seemed happier now than she had before Christmas.

He gulped, they'd missed their chance, him and Dad.

"Mum," he interrupted her run through of magazines, needing to find out but unsure how to ask. Then it dawned on him, and he clumsily blurted, "Sorry, I shouldn't call you that anymore."

As soon as he'd spoken, he regretted it. He felt goosebumps prickle his skin and a queasy sickness settle in his tummy as he watched Shelagh's face change. Gone was the bright happy smile, and in its place a small frown and watery eyes. As miserable as he was about this new information, he didn't like seeing her upset one bit, he wanted her smile back.

"If you would rather call me Shelagh, that's entirely up to you." Her voice was a bit shaky and she busied herself with tidying up the magazines into a neat pile. "It will always be your choice." She added quietly.

Timothy was confused. "I want you to be my mum but if you've decided not to marry my Dad then I can't very well go around calling you Mum!" He watched as her mouth dropped open and decided to try and lighten the mood with a joke, "What would people think?"

He was more than disappointed, in fact he was devastated, but he was friends with Sister Bernadette before even his dad was and the fact that she still came to see him in hospital everyday must mean that Shelagh wanted to be friends too. He didn't want her to feel bad.

When he looked up, Shelagh's face had changed again. She was looking at him very intently and it made him squirm.

"Timothy, why would you think that I've decided not to marry your dad?"

He started to doubt himself, was he wrong? He decided to push on, maybe she would feel more comfortable if he let her know he was alright with it. Or at least, pretended to be alright with it, it was the grown up thing to do. Trying to sound confident, he explained, "I noticed that you're a lot happier now." She was still looking at him intently and he faltered, "More than you were before the wedding… so you must be happier because it was cancelled."

Now he'd said it, it sounded ridiculous and he realised probably none of his business. He felt his cheeks starting to burn and cursed the fact he was stuck in the damned hospital bed. He so wanted to run and hide.

Then, unexpectedly, Shelagh smiled.

"Timothy, you're a wonderfully perceptive boy. I think maybe you're right, I am happier."

He held his, breath. _Here it comes_.

"But not because the wedding didn't happen, but because it will."

Tim scrunched up his face, "I don't understand," then followed tentatively with, "you still want to marry Dad?"

"Yes, Timothy. I want to marry your dad, as much as, if not more than I ever did." She paused for a second, looking thoughtful, "Perhaps I seem more happy now because I have realised that God has blessed me with more than I ever thought I could have."

The relief was palpable and he'd never been so glad to be wrong. But he was still curious and it must have shown on his face because Shelagh smiled and continued,

"How can I explain?" She drummed her fingers against a magazine in thought, "Oh, it's like Cubs."

"Cubs?" He echoed, leaning forward a little.

"Yes, you love attending Cubs, you have all your friends there and you enjoy the meetings."

"Yeah!" Tim enthused, "And it's not just the meetings, being a Cub Scout means that I have responsibilities to the local community _and_ Queen and Country." He spoke proudly but then felt oddly embarrassed as Shelagh was smiling at him in that odd way that his Dad did sometimes.

Shelagh took a moment to compose herself, "So, imagine now that there is another club that you want to attend. A youth club that allows you lots of new experiences, things you've never even dreamed of being able to do before."

Tim's eyes widened, "Like flying in a plane or...or jumping out a plane! Like the paratroopers did in the war!"

Tim delighted a little bit in Shelagh's look of mild horror.

"Well, yes, if you like." She cleared her throat, "So imagine then, that you want to jump out a plane so badly, and although it's scary and unknown, you decide that the… _parachuting youth club_ is a better fit for you than Cubs."

He thought for a moment, "I would be sad to leave Cubs, I've been attending for a long time… but I would regret it if I didn't have a go at parachuting if the opportunity was there."

Shelagh smiled tightly, "Now remember Timothy, this is all hypothetical. I certainly doubt that there is a youth club that offers parachuting and even if there was, I'd like to see you try and convince your father that it would be a good idea."

Timothy laughed then, considering how the conversation would go. "I know, but it's fun to imagine."

Shelagh's look of relief made Tim chuckle before she said, "So, _hypothetically,_ you've chosen the second club and you love it so much, it's everything you could have wished for and more."

"So that's the right choice."

Shelagh removed her glasses and cleaned a smudge of dirt from the lens as she spoke. "It's certainly not the wrong choice. But you still miss Cubs terribly, it was a big part of your life and there are a lot of aspects of it you miss."

"I'd miss Jack and all my other friends." Then he gasped, "Oh wait, Jack would definitely want to come with me to do parachuting so that would make it easier."

Shelagh shook her head as soon as he'd finished and quickly refuted his claim. "No no, Jack is very committed to Cubs in this scenario… and scared of heights!"

"Jack might be scared of heights actually, I've never thought to ask." Now he thought about it, he might be scared of heights himself. He'd not mention that though, it sounded impressive and brave that he wanted to jump from a plane and deep down, he wanted Shelagh to be impressed.

Unaware of his internal pondering, Shelagh leant forward and Tim sensed the important part was coming.

"So baring that all in mind, imagine how happy you would be if you found out that Cubs and the Youth Parachuting Club were held on different nights and you could attend both!"

"Well that would be smashing! I'd have everything then, wouldn't I? The best of both worlds!"

"Indeed." Shelagh nodded, seemingly pleased with the discussion. Then, as though Timothy had not interrupted her in the first place, she went straight back to the magazines, "I thought you'd like this one, it looks to have an interesting article on frog spawn."

"Oh neat." Tim said, accepting the proffered reading material but still feeling slightly bewildered.

Timothy had read Shelagh the article on frog spawn and they were busy discussing the ins and outs. He would usually wait until he was alone again to read, a way to stave off the boredom, but he liked having someone to discuss the fun topics with.

"So after they have spawned, they take three weeks to develop but the most interesting bit is that there are so many of them laid at once that if they can't find enough food, they eat each other!"

Shelagh looked sceptical, "Are you paraphrasing, Timothy?"

"Look!" He swung the magazine around to her and as she was trying to focus on the text, a booming voice made them both jump.

"Turner, Timothy. Where might I find him?"

Sister Evangelina was the last person Timothy was expecting and it must have shown on his face because he noticed Shelagh was trying to hide a smile.

The nun appeared at the side of his bed, slightly red faced and breathing heavily. "Phew, more stairs than I was imaging to this floor." Plonking herself down on a seat at the opposite side to Shelagh, she smiled, "I thought you might be here, Shelagh. I had business up on seventh and thought I'd pop in on the off chance."

Shelagh nodded, "Good idea, we can get the bus straight to the surgery after visiting. Nurse Franklin should be there already."

Sister Evangelina nodded and then turned her attention back to Tim, "Now then, how are you feeling, young man?"

He smiled politely, "Better every day, thank you."

"Nasty business, Polio. Any feeling back in your legs?"

"Sister!" The voice was Shelagh's but Tim almost didn't realise as the tone was different to anything he'd heard from her before. It reminded him of when his Dad was reprimanding him for something, a warning tone that always hit it's mark.

He realised that she was protecting him and thought it rather brave of her. "It's ok, Mum." He smiled reassuringly, then tried to ignore the fact that Sister Evangelina was gaping at him. He assumed it was at his use of the new moniker. "The feeling is coming back, I can feel it if you were to prod me." He made a show of poking his leg to demonstrate. "I just can't move my legs yet."

Gathering herself, the nun smiled, "It's early days but I dare say you are a strong lad, you'll be up and about in no time. Mark my words."

He didn't think anyone had called him strong before. Jack was strong, but Jack was three times his size. "I hope so." He grinned cheekily, "Then there can finally be some wedding bells."

"Oh? Got your eye on a nice lady then, Master Turner?" Sister Evangelina smirked as she spoke.

"No!" He spluttered, wishing he could think of a good comeback. He then narrowed his eyes at Shelagh who inexplicably betrayed him by laughing. Although she was valiantly trying to pretend that she wasn't. She was so like his Dad!

"Probably for the best," the Sister's smirk was still firmly in place and Timothy braced himself for what was to come next, "I think one love-sick Turner is quite enough for the time being!"

Now Shelagh looked embarrassed and Timothy decided a bit of payback was in order and gleefully laughed. Before anything else could be said, the nurse called the five minute mark for visitors and as always Timothy felt that it had gone too quickly.

He looked to Shelagh, and tried to keep the desperation from his voice, especially as Sister Evangelina was there, "Will you come back later?"

"Of course. There are a few things I have agreed to help the Sisters with this afternoon but I will definitely be here, I might just be a little bit late."

He smiled tightly and was just about to speak when Sister Evangelina cut in,

"Nonsense, we'll set off now and head straight to the surgery," she winked at Tim, "I'll make sure she sets off back well in time for visiting hours." She then turned to Shelagh, "Come along, _Mum._ "

That was funny, thought Tim. Shelagh seemed to be smiling just as she did when _he_ called her mum. Then it clicked, "Wait, Mum, can I speak to you for a second?"

Sister Evangelina bowed her head, and then turned towards the door, "No dilly dallying, I'm calling the lift. I don't care if it's full this time. Someone else can take the stairs!"

Once the Sister was out of earshot, Tim enthused, "I get it!"

"Get what, love?" Shelagh asked kindly, pulling on her coat as she spoke.

"Marrying Dad is like jumping out of the plane, and, and, your life at Nonnatus was like Cubs!" His words rushed together as he excitedly claimed, "You have both now!"

* * *

Shelagh visited as promised and while she hadn't been early again, she had got there on time much to Timothy's relief. His Dad hadn't managed to get away from work though which was disappointing but not unexpected. Shelagh had explained all the changes taking place with the surgery and Nonnatus and it sounded like everyone was even busier than usual.

The visit this afternoon had gone quite differently, though. One of the boys from across the ward had been moved next to him which hadn't phased Tim, the beds were often moved around. What had perturbed him was how much attention _his_ mum had paid to the newcomer. Tim had to admit, he couldn't recall ever seeing the boy - he now knew to be called Gregory - ever having a visitor before… but still, Shelagh was _his_ mum.

His annoyance had been short lived however once he saw how different Gregory seemed with a bit of attention. He wasn't the sad boy in the corner anymore, he came alive, he was chatty and funny and liked a lot of the same things Tim did. When he was little, his Mummy had always instilled in him the importance of sharing what you had, especially if you had more than others. It was a rule his Dad also lived by and today he realised that it wasn't just about things, about giving a fish supper away or sharing toys and magazines. He wouldn't lose anything by sharing Shelagh's attention, in fact he'd gained a friend.

"Your Mum is really nice." Gregory decided as the boys were settling down after visiting had finished.

"She is nice, she might be the nicest person I know." Timothy decided proudly.

"You don't much look like her though, if you don't mind me saying?"

He smiled, "I look a lot like my Dad, but I don't look like Shelagh because she's my step-mum."

"Oh." Was all Greg said.

Timothy noticed the change in his new friend's demeanour and was puzzled. He felt a bit defensive, "It doesn't change anything, she loves me as much as my Dad does!" He became more convinced of that every day.

Gregory shifted awkwardly in his bed. "I can see that, Tim."

"Then why are you being odd about it, you thought she was nice a moment ago." Tim found that he was more confused than annoyed, why should it matter if she wasn't his first mum?

"No, I do think she's nice. I do. It's just, I have a step-mum myself and well, she was very nice at the beginning too."

"At the beginning?"

"Tim, I don't want to upset you, and maybe it won't be the same for you but I wish someone had told me that it doesn't last."

He could feel his pulse pounding and he wanted to insist that Greg was wrong, but instead he asked, "Your step mum isn't very nice?"

Greg just shrugged, "She was at first, she'd make a big fuss of me and my older sister and would always buy us presents but after a while she just got nasty. Like we were a nuisance and then she had a baby of her own and it was even worse. My sister moved out when she was fourteen. She sends a Christmas card but I haven't seen her for a few years now."

Tim spent a moment digesting the words, "That sounds horrible, Greg. What about your Dad?"

"He's away a lot with work. He's at sea at the moment, I don't even know if he knows I'm in hospital."

Tim didn't really know what to say. He knew that every family was different, some children were lucky and had great parents and others well, didn't.

"I know you don't believe me, I just don't want you to get your hopes up. Everyone wants a happy family but sometimes it doesn't work out."

"I believe you, it's just… I have a hard time imagining Shelagh being mean to anyone. I've known her for a long time, though most of that time she was a Nun, and anyway, there's probably a rule that Nuns can't be mean."

"She was a Nun? The lady from earlier?" Greg's eyebrow disappeared under his unruly flop of blonde hair, and still needing confirmation added, "Your step-mum was a Nun?"

Tim grinned, "Yes, she was a Nun and don't ask me how it happened but her and my Dad fell in love," he pulled a face to make sure Greg knew that he wasn't in to all that mushy nonsense, "and she left the convent to be with us."

"But she's too young… and _pretty_ to be a Nun. That other lady who was sat with you this morning, now she looked like a Nun."

"You can ask her yourself next time she comes in if you like?"

"As long as you don't tell her I said she was pretty!"

"I won't, Cubs honour." He said while saluting.

"I'm a Cub too!" Greg enthused, "1st Stepney! What's your Akela like?"

And with that, the conversation moved firmly into the territory of campfires and bell tents. But Gregory's misgivings had set up camp in the back of Tim's mind and try as he might, he couldn't dislodge the idea that things might change.

His worry also meant that he couldn't get to sleep. Lights out felt like ages ago and he started to feel as though morning would come before sleep did. He kept still and quiet though, pretending to be asleep was easier than listening to the nurse's well meaning advice on sleep and healing.

Footsteps and muffled talking attracted his attention for a second but he quickly dismissed it as anything important. That was until the footsteps drew nearer. He could feel a presence next to him and held his breath, dare he open his eyes?

The familiar scent of home engulfed him mere seconds before a whispered, "It's me, Tim. I know you're pretending to be asleep."

His eyes pinged open in an instant, "Dad!" He sat up as best he could. "What are you doing here?"

"Better keep your voice down," Patrick chuckled, "Nurse Thomson has kindly let me stay for five minutes as I was here dropping some notes off." He leant closer, "On the condition that we don't disturb anyone else."

Timothy noticed then that the curtain had been drawn around them and delighted in having some privacy with his Dad. He could almost pretend they were in his bedroom at home.

Patrick sat on the edge of the bed and gently brushed his son's hair from his brow, "This really does need cutting."

Tim grinned, "I do go to extreme lengths to avoid the barbers."

"That's not funny, Timothy."

"I'd be more convinced of that if you're weren't trying to hide a smile, Dad!"

Patrick cleared his throat and wisely changed the subject. "Shelagh said you made a new friend today. Gregory, is it?"

Tim nodded but frowned, their earlier conversation coming back to him, "Yes, he's in the next bed. He belongs to a Cub pack in Stepney." He'd tried to sound upbeat but could tell by his Dad's expression that he'd missed the mark.

"Is everything alright, son?"

Timothy cringed, "It's nothing."

"Are you sur-"

"Shelagh isn't going to change is she?" He blurted, cutting his father off mid-sentence.

"Change?"

"Become…" He really didn't want to say it, but he had to be sure, "...nasty?"

If he hadn't been so concerned, he might have found his Dad's flummoxed expression quite funny, as it was, he just wanted some reassurance.

"Tim, where on earth has this come from?"

"Well Greg said that his step-mum changed and now is horrible and-" He stopped as his father leant towards him and grasped his shoulder.

"Timothy, I'm very sorry that your friend doesn't have a great step-mum. Every child deserves a loving home, but sadly, as you know, that's not always the case."

Tim nodded, this wasn't the first time he'd been confronted with such a prospect, you couldn't grow up in Poplar and be unaware that family life differed dramatically door to door. He had friends at school and at Cubs who he knew to have difficult home lives, and he suspected there were more that he didn't know of.

He also suspected that since his Mummy had passed away, he'd often been lumped in that category too. If the overheard comments were anything to go by. He was just happy that his father hadn't been in earshot when meddling mothers had decided that his shoes needed replacing or his clothes ironing.

Timothy realised that he'd never been particularly bothered by it as he knew without a doubt that his father loved him fiercely and always did his best. He also knew that Shelagh loved him and yet Greg's assertion that things would change kept coming to the forefront of his mind.

"Timothy, I can't predict what will happen in the future any more than you can. I can't even promise you that Shelagh will never say or do anything you deem to be horrible. You thought I was pretty horrible a few weeks ago, do you remember?"

"I remember," he dropped his eyes and found a sudden interest in a wick of skin by his fingernail, "I said you were the worst Dad in the world because you wouldn't let me play out past curfew."

His Dad was smiling about it now, but Tim distinctly remembered a different reaction at the time.

"And before you spoke with Gregory, did you have any doubts in your mind about Shelagh joining our family? Any concerns at all? It's important that you tell me now, if you do."

His Dad was taking this very seriously, so Timothy decided to afford it the same gravitas as he thought back. He'd always liked being around Sister Bernadette, she made him feel special. Even if it was just silly little things like laughing at his jokes. Other people laughed but he knew that Sister Bernadette had appreciated them because she would always ask if he had any new jokes when she saw him.

And when his Dad had explained that Sister Bernadette was going to become Shelagh Mannion, he'd worried that she wouldn't be the same person. He didn't want to lose anyone else. But then Shelagh had been everything that Sister Bernadette was and more.

He'd always felt at ease around her and she had become a part of their lives so seamlessly that he couldn't really remember what it had been like when it was just him and his dad.

Confidently he said, "I've never had any concerns." He paused and added, "I've had concerns that she might decide not to marry you though!"

That made his Dad laugh and Timothy made sure to shush him.

"Tim if you're completely certain that you would like Shelagh and I to marry and for her to be your mother, then she will be your mother in every sense of the word. And that might mean that sometimes she will tell you off or decide something that you think is unfair," Patrick ruffled his son's hair as he added, "just as _I_ do. Like I said, I can't promise that you will not consider her to be 'horrible' at some point, that rather goes hand in hand with being a parent."

Tim nodded but sensed that his father wasn't quite finished.

"I _can_ promise you, that you never need to worry about being in a situation where you will be mistreated. If by some strange turn of events Shelagh turned out to not be the woman we know and love, then she wouldn't be welcome in our house."

Timothy leant forward and was pleased when his dad closed the distance and hugged him closely. "Thanks Dad. I definitely do want Shelagh to be my mum."

"Completely certain?"

"Completely certain."


End file.
